Not Your Prince Charming
by the moon of my life
Summary: Hannah Singer was five years old when she met the Winchesters and has been family friends since. She tried and failed not to fall in love with Dean at fourteen. Now twenty-two and fresh out of college, Hannah joins the boys on their search for their elusive father. She doesn't expect Dean to reciprocate her feelings, but Dean is never to be expected. / Season 1 and onward.
1. Woman in White

**A/N: **I'd like to thank everyone for following and favoriting this story before and I hope you continue to read it! Also, review! I'd love to know what you guys think!

**Disclaimer****: **I don't own _Supernatural_

**1.**

**Woman in White**

_For Whom the Bell Tolls _by Metallica jingled in the silent room, startling Hannah awake. She blindly reached for her phone, wincing from the harsh light when she flipped it open.

"Dean Winchester, do you know what time it is?" She could hear Van Halen playing in the background.

"_What time is it in South Dakota?_" he asked.

"Almost four o'clock, you jerk."

"_Aren't you usually so chipper in the morning?_" Dean questioned. She could tell he was grinning on the other line.

Hannah rolled over to her side, using her other arm to cover her eyes. "Not when you haven't called me in nearly a year and the one time you do it's at four in the morning."

"_You said it was_ almost _four o'clock_."

"Don't correct me at this hour, Dean."

He laughed, a sound that made Hannah's heartbeat quicken. She and Dean weren't exactly close. The four-year age difference didn't help. Their personalities were so different that Hannah could easily understand why they weren't close, but Hannah liked to think that they were friends. Not close ones, but friends nevertheless.

"_My dad is missing_," Dean said suddenly.

"Your dad is missing?" Hannah repeated, removing her arm from over her eyes. "Are you sure?"

"_He hasn't answered his phone in weeks, Hannah_."

"Well..." She rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. "Your dad has always been cryptic."

"_That's an understatement_," he muttered. The song changed to an unfamiliar one. "_I think he's getting close to the thing that killed my mom_."

"Thing that killed your mom?" Hannah yawned.

Dean snorted. "_Does lack of sleep turn you into a parrot?_"

She rolled her eyes. "Well, what do you want me to say?"

There was a pause, and Hannah could hear Dean slam his car door shut. Then he said something unexpected:

"_Say you'll hit the road with me_."

Hannah blinked then blinked again.

Was Dean Winchester _actually _suggesting that they hunt together?

After their first and last hunt together, Hannah was certain Dean would never want to do a case with her again. Despite her vast knowledge in the supernatural and how to kill it, when it came to _hunting _Hannah was inexperienced. Her dad was reluctant to let her handle cases alone, and even with him nonetheless. The vampire case she and Dean handled a few years ago had been... messy, so Hannah stuck to research. Still, the idea of defeating some monster _herself_ thrilled her.

"Where are you planning on going?" Hannah inquired.

"_California_," he answered jauntily.

It took only a minute for Hannah to make the connection.

"That's where Sam lives," she stated.

"_Uh-huh_." He sounded distracted.

"... Have you talked to Sam abo—"

"_I'm going to_," Dean interrupted. "_Look, Princess, you and I both know that Sammy never got along with our dad, but... he's still our dad and Sam will want to make sure Dad's safe. Don't you want to see him too?_"

She ignored the nickname and said, "Of course I want to see Sam. It's been three years."

"_Awesome. I'll be in Sioux Falls a day from now_," Dean replied, then promptly hung up.

A beat passed before Hannah slowly snapped her phone shut and tossed it on the other side of the bed. She groaned and said aloud, "Great, now I can't go back to sleep."

* * *

Dean checked out of the motel he was staying at and made a non-stop drive to Sioux Falls. He had been in New Orleans doing a voodoo case. The case went in an unexpected direction, but everything was fine now.

The moment Dean ended his conversation with Hannah, he regretted his decision to invite her. _What was I thinking? _Dean wondered.

Hannah Singer was not your typical hunter. She was too nice, too trusting, nothing like the battle-hardened hunters Dean encountered, and how could he forget the disaster with the vampire case? The girl let her guard down for _a second _and nearly got herself killed. _He _nearly got her killed. No, Dean couldn't let sweet little Hannah join him and his brother on this dangerous search for his dad. He wouldn't jeopardize the life of Bobby's only kid. Not again.

Bobby's house was a welcoming sight. His place had always been the home Dean never had. The salvage yard was his favorite part of the house. He remembered helping Bobby fix cars when he had been younger, learning all there was to the mechanics. Dean could spend hours fixing and improving his Baby.

_She'll probably pout and use those big blues on me, _Dean thought as he parked in front of Bobby's house. Hannah's infamous pout worked on Bobby every time, but it wouldn't work on Dean.

"Bobby!" Dean grinned when the front door swung open. He always thought of Bobby as a second father, sometimes even wishing that he _was_ his father, but then he would regret thinking it, feeling like a traitor to his real dad.

"I know I don't have to remind you to take good care of my daughter," Bobby said, stepping aside to let him through the door.

"About that. Bobby, I don't think..." Dean trailed off, his train of thought derailing completely at the sight of Hannah Singer.

_Whoa_, was the first thing Dean thought. Actually, who was he kidding? The first thing he thought was, _when did she get boobs?_

It was Hannah, but it wasn't. The baby fat in her cheeks had melted, making her look her age. Her hair skimmed her collarbones, shining like brown silk. The silver hamsa amulet he had given her for her eleventh birthday was tucked between her ample cleavage. That chest… Those curves… It was like an unexpected blow to the face for Dean.

How had Hannah, who had simply been just his childhood friend, become _Hannah_, this insanely hot twenty-two year old woman?

Then she smiled, and the daze Dean was in vanished. She was still Hannah, the same uptight, bookish little girl he grew up with. Her smile was unlike the ones he usually saw with women her age. Her smile was still innocent, still retained that immeasurable sweetness that he was used to.

"Ready to go?" she asked as she dragged her luggage down the staircase.

Dean swallowed thickly, trying to remember how to speak.

"I think this is too dangerous for you," Dean heard himself say.

"Huh?" She stood in front of him, tilting her head with a puzzled expression on her face.

"Dad's missing and we have no idea how dangerous the thing he's hunting is. You could get hurt bad, Hannah. I hope you know that."

She blinked owlishly. "You think I don't know that?" was her response. "I don't think hunting is just some game, Dean. I hope _you _know that."

Hannah pushed past him, hauling her luggage with her. Dean stood there, dumbfounded until he heard Bobby snort behind him.

"She sure told you," the older hunter chuckled.

Scowling, Dean said goodbye to Bobby and headed back to the Impala. He helped put her luggage in the trunk and opened the passenger door for her. She went over to hug her dad goodbye for climbing in the car. They were driving for about twenty minutes when she made her first offense.

"What do you think you're _doing?" _Dean asked, stopping her before she could change the station.

"What do you think? Aren't you tired of Aerosmith?" she questioned.

Dean would have stared at her if he wasn't driving. "You are treading on thin ice, Princess. My car, my rules."

Hannah leaned back, crossing her arms in a huff. Neither said anything for another five minutes until Dean grew uncomfortable with the silence. What did she like? What could they talk about? She graduated, he remembered.

"Um, congrats by the way," Dean said, glancing at her. "On graduating," he clarified, when she gave him a questioning look.

"Oh, thanks!" Hannah brightened at that. "Top of my class."

"I bet." Hannah was a smart girl. That was the major reason for seeking her out. "Did your boyfriend go?"

"My _who?" _she asked, startled.

He was confused. "Your boyfriend? The idiot you dated in high school?"

"Oh." She relaxed, but Dean was still confused. Why had she gotten scared? "He's not an idiot, and you forgot, didn't you? Ryan and I broke up after high school."

"Good," tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "You could do better."

"Really?" Hannah's voice went soft, and Dean was certain her eyes looked the way she sounded. She had an annoying habit of making everything so sentimental. He couldn't compliment her without her giving him that particular look. The gentle way she would say his name was unbearable.

"I mean, not much better. Not many guys are willing to date a Gorgon."

Hannah's smile dropped. She shoved at his arm and he laughed. That was better.

* * *

Driving with Dean had been... interesting to say the least. Hannah swore that Dean loved his Impala a bit too intensely.

Was it possible for someone to get even better looking? Dean had always been handsome, but he lost that boyishness from his teenage years and looked more like a man now... _Stop. You are better than this_, Hannah thought, refusing to entertain these notions. Dean was still the same immature, childish, man-whore she knew. Not the "bad boy" girls from afar thought he was.

They were finally at Sam's place, a modest looking apartment. Hannah adjusted her cardigan, waiting for Dean to finally speak up. He had been eyeing the apartment for a while now.

"Should we just... knock?" Hannah suggested.

"No." He turned to her, smirking. "Want a beer?"

Without waiting for an answer, Dean climbed out of his car and headed towards the fire escape. Hannah's eyes widened and she scrambled after him. She grabbed his arm, and he whirled, giving her a questioning look.

"What?" he demanded.

"Are you seriously about to climb the fire escape instead of knocking on his door?" she asked, incredulous.

Dean pretended to think about his answer before nodding with an affirmative yes.

"Dean!" Hannah's voice threatened to turn into a whine. "We haven't seen Sam in _three _years. How do you think he'll respond to us climbing through his window?"

"With uncontained happiness," Dean replied, in a flat voice. "Now come on, Princess! I need a beer."

"I am _not _your princess!" Hannah snapped. She wanted to stomp her foot out of frustration. "Dean!"

He ignored her, continuing his way up the fire escape to Sam's apartment. Hannah followed him, hissing that he needed to stop. Dean disregarded everything she said, trekking up the escape until he found Sam's window.

"Dean," Hannah warned, then let out a gasp when Dean had the audacity to wink at her before opening Sam's window and climbing inside.

Sighing because she knew this was about to be a catastrophe, Hannah followed Dean inside. She teetered, bumping into the back of Dean who stumbled forward. He glared at her from over his shoulder before motioning her to follow him. They continued towards the kitchen, or at least Hannah _thought _it was the kitchen. It was so dark she had no idea where she was going, only following the leader.

Hannah leaped back when Dean, without warning, aimed his fist at someone's face. _Sam_, she realized, cupping her mouth shut with both hands to keep from yelling at them. After some struggling, Dean finally knocked Sam to the floor. He kept one hand at Sam's throat and the other at Sam's wrist.

"Whoa, easy, tiger," Dean said, grinning.

"Dean?" Sam panted, stunned. Dean laughed. "You scared the crap out of me! Wait, I saw another person."

Sam tilted his head back, his deep green eyes widening when he noticed Hannah. She waved mildly.

"Hannah?" He sounded even more surprised.

"Dean, will you get off of Sam?" Hannah asked, stepping towards the entangled brothers.

"Actually, I feel kind of comfy. Hey, Sammy, you make a pretty nice mattress." Dean snickered. Hannah grabbed his shoulders and tried to pull him back. "Let _go _of me, Hannah."

"No. I told you not to climb through Sam's window and what do you do? Exactly what I told you _not _to do! You could have given him a heart attack, Dean." Hannah peaked over Dean's back at Sam. She smiled sheepishly. "Sorry about this."

"It's fine, Hannah," Sam wheezed.

The lights flicked on, and the three of them turned to see a blonde girl dressed in only a crop top with the Smurfs and pink shorts. Hannah blushed, realizing they must have looked strange. She was in mid-pull when Dean sat up abruptly, causing her to yelp and fall backwards. She smiled and squeaked when Sam helped her to her feet, alarmed by the sheer strength he had. Dusting herself off, Hannah smiled awkwardly in the blonde girl's direction.

"Jess, hey. Dean, Hannah, this is my girlfriend, Jessica," Sam introduced, glancing at everyone.

Hannah refrained from rolling her eyes when she noticed the way Dean's eyes traveled up and down Jess's body. She smiled sympathetically at Sam who seemed just as irritated.

"Wait, your friend from South Dakota Hannah?" Jess asked, looking at Hannah with interest.

"Sorry about the commotion," Hannah apologized. Jess smiled warmly, seeming to forgive her completely.

"And your brother Dean?"

Sam nodded, and Dean moved towards Jess, grinning. "I love the Smurfs," professed Dean. He cocked his head to the side. "You know, I gotta tell you. You are completely out of my brother's league."

Jess gave Sam a questioning look before excusing herself to go put something on.

"No, no, no." Dean stopped her, shaking his head. "I wouldn't dream of it. Seriously."

"Dean," Hannah threatened.

"Calm down, Princess."

"I am _not_ your princess!" Hannah hissed then turned to Sam, wanting to get straight to business. "We need to talk. Right, Dean?"

"Right," Dean agreed for once. He smiled charmingly at Jess. "We gotta borrow your boyfriend here, talk about some private family business, but, uh, nice meeting you."

"No." Sam walked over to his girlfriend and wrapped his arm around her. "Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of her."

Neither noticed the look Hannah shot Dean.

"Okay. Dad hasn't been home in a few days," Dean started, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

"So he's working overtime on a Miller Time shift. He'll stumble back sooner or later," Sam replied confidently.

_Oh Sam, _Hannah thought, frowning. Did he despise hunting so much that he was refusing to humor them?

"Dad's on a _hunting _trip, and he hasn't been home in a few days," Dean clarified.

A myriad of emotions flitted across Sam's face as he let what Dean said sink in. Hannah shifted on her feet, waiting patiently for his response.

"Jess, excuse us." Sam finally said.

Following the boys, Hannah headed downstairs. She wrapped her cardigan more snug around her, feeling the hairs on her arms stiffen from the cool air.

"Come on you guys. You can't just break in, middle of the night, and expect me to hit the road with you," Sam said, glancing behind him at Hannah. "And I thought Bobby didn't let you do hunts. I mean, remember the vam—?"

"I remember!" Hannah didn't need to be reminded of the awful first hunt she experienced. "Daddy was reluctant, but he told me to be extra careful."

"I'm also very persuasive," added Dean, waggling his brows.

"You called me at four in morning. My brain wasn't functioning properly."

"_Almost _four in the morning. How do you keep forgetting that detail?"

They paused, all staring at each other. Dean grew serious as he turned back to his brother.

"You're not hearing me, Sammy," he said. "Dad's missing. I need you to help me find him."

Sam gestured to Hannah. She gasped, offended when Dean rolled his eyes at her. "Tell him why you're here."

"To see you," Hannah said to Sam. His face softened. "And to learn more about, you know, hunting."

The research part of hunting was where Hannah excelled, but she wanted to know how to use a shotgun, say she exorcised a demon, _save _people.

"Dad's always missing," Sam said, eyes meeting Dean's again. "And he's always fine."

"Not for this long. Now are you coming with us or not?" Dean questioned.

"I'm not," Sam answered forcefully.

"Why not?"

"I swore I was done hunting. For good."

"Come on. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't _that_ bad," Dean insisted, starting downstairs again. Hannah tried to keep up with their quick strides while making sure her breasts didn't pop out of her bra.

"Yeah? When I told Dad I was scared of the thing in my closet, he gave me a forty-five," Sam argued, then stopped when Hannah missed her footing, catching her from falling.

"Thanks," she whispered, smiling widely. Sam returned it, although his smile was less wide.

Dean halted at the door leading outside. He looked at them. "Well, what was he supposed to do?" he asked Sam.

"I was _nine_ years old!" Sam said, exasperated. "He was supposed to say—"

"Don't be afraid of the dark?" Hannah finished for him. "Don't be so naïve, Sam. We know what's out there, so of course we should be afraid, but that doesn't mean we should run away."

"I didn't run away," Sam told her. "But still, Han. The way we grew up, after Mom was killed. You wouldn't understand. Bobby never made you live in different motels every two weeks. You still have a chance to walk away from all this."

Hannah recoiled. "You think just because I lived in a house in the _same _place makes me normal? I didn't have any friends, Sam! I was the only person in elementary school who knew that the Boogeyman was real! Some girls started a rumor that I was in a cult because of the anti-possession tattoo I have! Should I tell you more about how _not _normal my life was, and still is?"

"No," Sam said. There was an apologetic look on his face. "I didn't mean to insult you, Hannah."

She merely turned away, staring at the door.

"You think Mom would have wanted this for us?" Sam asked.

Dean opened the door forcefully, holding it briefly so Hannah wouldn't get hit. They continued down a short flight of stairs to the parking lot.

"The weapon training, and melting the silver into bullets? Man, Dean, we were raised like warriors," Sam said as the three of them crossed the parking lot to the Impala.

"So, what are you gonna do? You're just gonna live some normal, apple pie life? Is that it?" Dean demanded. Hannah watched him warily. The heated tone in his voice made her nervous.

"No. Not normal. Safe," Sam replied.

"And that's why you ran away," Dean stated, echoing Hannah's words. He looked away, his eyes meeting Hannah's briefly. She mouthed, "_Calm down_." He scoffed and turned back to Sam.

"I was just going to college. It was _Dad_ who said if I was gonna go I should stay gone, and that's what I'm doing," Sam explained, shrugging helplessly.

"Yeah, well, Dad's in real trouble right now. If not dead already. I can feel it," Dean responded. Sam said nothing. "We can't do this alone."

Sam scoffed. "Yes you can."

"Sam," Hannah begged. "Please just do this. If not for your dad then for Dean."

Hannah chewed her lower lip, staring at him with pleading eyes. She heard Sam mutter, "Oh no."

He let his head fall then looked back up at both Hannah and Dean, sighing. "What was he hunting?"

With a smirk, Dean opened the trunk to the Impala, informing Sam of what John Winchester was last hunting before he disappeared. Hannah smiled gratefully at Sam who only sighed again.

* * *

While Sam went back to his apartment to pack a duffel bag, Hannah sat on the hood of the Impala. Dean leaned against it, his body close to hers. She looked cold, but she didn't ask for his jacket and he didn't offer it.

As subtly as he could, he let his gaze wander down to her cleavage. Her breasts seemed to be straining against her white tank top underneath her cardigan. _When did she get such a rack? _Maybe she always had a chest like that and he just never noticed. Dean hadn't seen her in person for the last couple months. Hannah had been busy with school too, so their visits were usually short.

That would easily explain why Dean never noticed Hannah's development.

It was a strange feeling for Dean. He always saw Hannah as a little girl, so naïve and sweet. Now he couldn't even remember how she looked as a little girl, all because she was stacked.

"What are you staring at?" Dean froze, realizing how _unsubtle _he had been in ogling Hannah's chest.

"Your necklace," he replied deftly. "You still wear that old thing?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Hannah fingered the thin silver chain. "You gave it to me for my birthday, remember?"

"I remember. Doesn't mean you have to wear it."

Hannah smiled and nudged him playfully. "Of course I have to wear it! It's the nicest gift you've ever given me."

"It's the _only _gift I've ever given you," Dean pointed out.

"Still nice." Hannah shrugged, not in the least upset over that fact. She smiled, and guilt overwhelmed Dean. Did she have to be so _nice _all the time?

Sam returned, carrying a duffel bag and a reluctant look on his face. Dean tried not to smirk. He didn't think he'd ever see the day he was _glad _that Hannah used her infamous pout. Sam stood no chance, caving in once she pouted and used those big blues on him.

Sliding into the driver's seat, he waited for Sam and Hannah to climb in. Turning up the radio, he started their drive towards Jericho, California.

* * *

Hannah woke up with a knot in her neck. Slowly, she lifted her face from the window in the backseat of the Impala, rubbing her groggy eyes. When her vision cleared, she realized that they were at a gas station.

Sam was still in the passenger seat, rummaging through Dean's cassettes. He noticed Hannah and smiled at her. "Morning."

"Morning," she forced out, her voice hoarse. "Mm, where's Dean?"

"Right here," said a familiar, husky voice. "You guys want breakfast?"

She and Sam peaked out the window to see Dean carrying junk food. Hannah held out her hand and was about to grasp a granola bar when Dean pulled back, waving it in her face with a smirk.

"What's the magic word?" he asked.

"Dean," she whined.

"I don't think that's it, but that's nice of you to think my name is magic, Princess," Dean joked. Hannah chewed her lower lip, too tired to upbraid him for the annoying nickname. "Fine. You're no fun when you just wake up, anyway."

Smiling, Hannah opened her granola bar and nibbled a piece off. She tuned out the boys as she ate her "breakfast." It wasn't until she heard "update" and "tape" in the same sentence did she listen.

"Sam's right. You really should update your music," Hannah spoke up. She rolled her eyes. "Do you know how many times I had to listen to AC/DC on the way here?"

"Well, house rules, kids," Dean said, about to put the tape into the cassette player. "Driver picks music, shotgun shuts his piehole, and backseat doesn't say shit."

Hannah narrowed her eyes. Hastily, she rifled through her purse to find a tape that she loved so dearly. Handing it to Sam, he glanced at it then grinned in Hannah's direction.

"Uh, Dean, why not play this one?" Sam didn't even wait, taking the tape out himself and putting in the one Hannah gave him.

"Hey!" Dean turned on the engine to the Impala. "What the...?"

"_Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want. So tell me what you want, what you really really want. I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want. So tell me what you want, what you really really want_—"

Dean turned off the radio and turned to gape at Hannah with a flustered look on his face. Hannah didn't know whether she should laugh or not.

"I'm tempted to throw your ass out of this fucking car for pulling that bull—!"

"Dean, calm down!" Sam exclaimed, laughing.

"Spice Girls is a classic!" Hannah said defensively. "If you had a CD player we could play some Britney Spears..."

A beat passed before Dean blurted out, "Hannah, are you possessed?"

Sam guffawed from the sheer absurdity of it all, and Hannah couldn't blame him.

* * *

"Check it out," Hannah said, looking ahead.

Dean followed her gaze, observing the police cars by the bridge. He pulled the Impala over to the side of the road.

The three of them stared for a while before Dean turned off the engine and reached over to the glove compartment. She knew he kept the fake IDs in there. Most of them had his and John Winchester's faces on them. Her dad had promised to make some for her and would have them ready by the time she returned from this case.

"Hannah, stay here," Dean told her, blocking her from getting out.

"Why?" Hannah asked.

"You're not familiar with pretending to be an FBI agent, remember?" He poked her forehead with two of his fingers. Hannah swatted his hand away. "Watch and learn, Princess."

"Not your princess," Hannah retorted lazily.

The two Winchesters traipsed over to the police, leaving Hannah to wait in the Impala. _Great_, she thought, bothered that Dean didn't trust her completely. Couldn't he put that vampire case behind them?

After a couple of minutes of interrogating, the boys headed back to the car. "Learn anything?" Hannah asked them.

"Nope. Police are clueless," Sam answered as he buckled himself in. "Got any ideas, Han?"

"Vengeful ghost?" Hannah guessed.

"Well, that's something," Dean said, starting the engine. "We're gonna find Troy's girlfriend, Amy. She might know something." He looked back at Hannah and smirked in her direction. "And you don't have to wait in the car."

Hannah narrowed her eyes at him, but said nothing. She'd get her revenge with some Spice Girls.

* * *

They found Amy easily.

She was posting up MISSING posters with Troy's face when they approached her. Hannah looked at Dean questioningly when he draped his arm over her shoulders and brought her closer.

"Just go with it," he murmured then stopped when they reached Amy. "You must be Amy."

"Yeah," she said cautiously.

"Yeah, Troy told us about you. We're his uncles. I'm Dean, this is Sammy." Dean ignored the glare Sam sent him.

"And you?" Amy eyed Hannah.

"His girlfriend. I'm Hannah," Hannah said, gesturing to Dean who grinned in response.

They spoke to her for a bit and eventually settled in a nearby diner. Dean kept his arm around her the whole time. It was weird. Dean hated any sort of affection, cringing each time Hannah or Sam attempted to hug him. Even if it wasn't Dean, Hannah would still feel strange. It was distracting. The weight of his arm on her. His body close to hers. She hadn't been this close to a man since Warren.

Warren was… he… she couldn't think about him. Not now. Why was she thinking about him anyway? Dean was right next to her. Hannah blushed. No, that was worse. She refused to think about Dean in any manner other than her friend.

"Hey, you alright?" Hannah froze when Dean's voice reverberated through her skull. His face was so close to hers. She could turn her head and kiss him if she wanted—not that she wanted to.

"I'm fine," she replied quietly. She turned her attention back to Amy and her friend.

"Well, it's just... I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk," Amy's friend said.

"What do they talk about?" Sam and Dean asked in unison. Hannah suppressed a smile. She always found the boys especially cute when they spoke simultaneously.

"It's kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago," Amy's friend told them in a hushed voice. Dean's eyes flitted to Hannah's, seeming impressed with Hannah's accurate guess. "Well, supposedly she's still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever she picks up? Well, they disappear forever."

She, Sam, and Dean exchanged furtive looks.

* * *

Hannah and Sam watched as Dean typed "female murder hitchhiking" in the search box. There were zero results. Dean replaced "hitchhiking" with "Centennial Highway." Zero results again.

"Let me try," Sam offered, reaching over to use the keyboard. Dean smacked his hand away.

"I got it," growled Dean.

Sam stared at him then shoved him out of his chair. Hannah giggled, biting her lower lip when Dean shot her a dirty look. He punched Sam in the shoulder as he got to his feet. Sam didn't notice.

"Dude! You are such a control freak!" Dean snapped.

"We are in a _library_, remember?" Hannah hissed, glancing around to check if they were disturbing anyone.

Dean rolled his eyes. "You were laughing just a second ago!"

"Guys," Sam called, interrupting their dispute. "So angry spirits are born out of violent deaths, right?"

"Yeah," Hannah and Dean said at the same time, although Dean's voice sounded bored.

"Well, maybe it's not murder," Sam proposed, replacing "murder" with "suicide." There was only one source. Sam clicked on it, and she and Dean leaned forward to read the article. "This was 1981. Constance Welch, twenty-four years old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in the river."

Hannah stared at the picture of Constance Welch. She was beautiful, with olive skin, dark eyes, and dark brown wavy hair. She frowned as she read the article. Drowned her kids. _Sounds like a familiar legend in Mexico_, mused Hannah.

"Hey!" Hannah ducked when Dean began ruffling her hair.

"We're heading to Sylvania Bridge, Space Cadet," Dean informed her.

"Right." Hannah closed the browser on the computer and followed the boys out of the library. "So, how do we take down this ghost if she's drowned? Her husband must have buried her body at the local cemetery."

"We'll figure that out after we check out the bridge," Dean said as he fished for his car keys.

"We're not going to _burn_ the bridge down, are we?" Hannah questioned, her eyes widening. "We need a plan, Dean."

Dean blocked Sam from opening the passenger seat door, thus stopping Hannah from climbing in the backseat. Hannah held Dean's scrutinizing gaze, waiting patiently for his response.

"Winchesters don't plan _anything_," Dean stated, ignoring Sam who shook his head. "We wouldn't get shit done if we just sat around and planned everything, so get used to it, Princess."

Heat rushed to Hannah's cheeks. She opened her mouth to object, but she could only sputter out nonsense. Hannah hastily closed her mouth, refusing to embarrass herself further.

Sam moved his seat, allowing Hannah to get inside the Impala. "You'll get used to it if you travel with him longer," he told her.

"I hope not," Hannah sighed.

* * *

It was night by the time they reached the bridge. Hannah swallowed down her dread and followed the boys as they walked along the empty bridge. She fingered the silver chain around her neck, looking around for Constance Welch.

"So this is where Constance took the swan dive," Dean said as they looked over the railing. Hannah frowned at his insensitivity. "What?"

"So you think Dad would have been here?" Sam inquired. He turned to them, waiting for Dean's response.

"Well, he's chasing the same story and we're chasing him," Dean replied, walking forward. Hannah walked beside him, crossing her arms.

"Okay, so now what?" Sam asked.

"Now we keep digging until we find him. It might take a while," Dean said, slowing down his pace. Hannah glanced behind her, hoping they wouldn't get into another fight.

_These boys are worse than teenage girls,_ Hannah observed. They fought over the littlest things, but the argument blooming now sounded a lot bigger than their normal squabbles.

"Dean," Sam started plaintively. "I told you guys, I've gotta be back by—"

The only sounds Hannah heard were her own ankle boots. She whirled, noticing that Dean had stopped walking and was facing Sam. She chewed her lower lip, preparing herself for another fight.

"Monday," he finished for him. "Right. The interview. Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just going to become some lawyer? Marry your girl?"

Sam looked at her, as if she could do something about him. Hannah could only shrug helplessly. She wasn't prepared for Dean to bring up the elephant in the room either.

"Maybe," Sam finally said. "Why not?"

"Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know about the things you've done?" Dean questioned.

"No, and she's not ever going to," Sam said sharply, stepping towards Dean in a stiff stance.

"Well, that's healthy," Dean quipped. Hannah could tell there was a mocking smile growing on his face. "You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are."

He turned around and walked past Hannah. She grabbed his arm and was jerked forward when he barely paused.

"Dean, stop it," Hannah said quietly.

"No, I won't," Dean snapped, glaring at her.

"Getting him mad won't make him stay, you know," Hannah hissed, then jumped when a hand dropped to her shoulder. She looked over her shoulder and saw it was Sam.

"It's fine, Hannah," he said, glaring at Dean. "And who's that, Dean?"

"One of _us_." Dean motioned to the three of them.

Sam hurried to stand in front of Dean, his scowl fierce. "No. I'm not like you. This isn't going to be my life."

As much as Hannah wanted to side with Sam, she just couldn't. There was no escaping the hunting lifestyle. You were either born into it or it was thrusted upon you. Her dad was forced to become one after her mom died. Hannah once had the same views as Sam, refusing to accept her fate as a hunter, but growing up knowing that these _creatures_ were real and out there harming others, it didn't settle well with her.

She preferred to think on the bright side. At least she could save people.

"You have a responsibility—"

"To Dad and his crusade?" Sam exploded. "If "To Dad and his crusade?" Sam exploded, "If it weren't for pictures I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like."

"Sam," Hannah gasped.

"Please, Hannah, don't tell me you know what _your_ mom looks like. I don't see Bobby going on a witch hunt for the demon that killed his wife." Sam frowned at her. "What happened, Hannah? You were a student at one of the most prestigious universities in the U.S. You could do something better with your life. And what difference does it make? Even if we _do_ find the things that killed our moms, they're gone. And they're not coming back."

Dean grabbed Sam by the collar and shoved him against the metal beam of the bridge. Hannah rushed over to them, but Dean held out his arm to block her.

"Don't talk about our mom or _hers_ like that," Dean flared after a pregnant pause. He took a step back, releasing Sam roughly.

"Guys," Hannah said, the seriousness in her voice calling their attention instantly. "Look."

A woman in a white dress stood at the edge of the bridge. _Constance_, Hannah realized. Her heart hammered in her chest when Constance looked at them then stepped forward off the bridge. Hannah ran over to the railing first, the boys following a close minute after her.

"Where'd she go?" Hannah asked, looking at them. She hoped her voice didn't betray how frightened she was.

"I don't know," Sam said, sounding more confused than scared.

The roar of an engine startled Hannah. She spun around to see the headlights of the Impala. Hannah, Sam, and Dean exchanged worried glances.

"Who's driving your car?" Sam asked Dean, bewildered.

Dean reached into his jacket and pulled out his car keys. Hannah's eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. It was her. It was Constance driving the car.

The tires screeched and the car was in motion. She felt someone grab her arm, shaking her out of her trance. Hannah ran as fast as she could, but the car sounded like it was getting closer and closer to them. Sam looked at her and jerked his head over to the railing. Hannah shook her head, but with the Impala gaining on them, Hannah whimpered and ran over to the railing. She screamed as she dived over it.

Before she landed in the water, she saw Dean falling as well. The water was thick with mud as she swam to the shore, dragging Dean with her. They crawled out of the water, Dean coughing while Hannah spitting out mud.

"Thanks," she heard Dean say between coughs.

"No problem," Hannah said then groaned. "I feel disgusting."

He stared at her, his green eyes popping out against the mud covering his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but Sam's voice came out instead.

"Dean! Hannah!" called Sam from above.

"What?" Dean shouted, annoyed.

"Hey! Are you guys alright?"

"I'm super. What about you, Hannah?" Dean answered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Hannah let out a shaky laugh. "I've had better."

Dean snorted and staggered to his feet. Hannah shivered as she stood, hating how filthy she felt. The walk to the car had been quiet with the exception of Dean grumbling about how he was going to "gank that Constance bitch."

She laughed lightly when Dean sprinted over to his car to inspect it. Sam arrived a couple minutes later.

"I'm so sorry," Sam said, referring to the mud.

"Better than getting ran over," Hannah replied, smiling at him. "I reek, don't I?"

He nodded, and they chuckled. Dean slammed the hood of the Impala down and leaned against it. Sam slowly approached his brother while Hannah followed.

"Your car all right?" he inquired.

"Yeah, whatever she did to it, seems all right now," Dean said, crossing his arms. "That Constance chick, what a _bitch_!"

Hannah elbowed Dean as she leaned against the hood. "I told you we needed a plan. Now look at us!"

"Hannah's right," Sam agreed, settling on the next on the other side of Dean. "She doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure. So where's the job from here, genius?"

Dean threw his arms up in frustration, flicking mud at Hannah who flinched away.

"The article said she was married, right?" Hannah asked Sam.

"Yeah."

"We could talk to the husband."

"What, you mean right now?" Dean asked her in disbelief.

"Dean, you smell like a toilet," Sam remarked. He blocked the driver's seat from Dean. "Whoa, hey! Do you really want to mess up the interior of your car?"

"It'll already be messed up now move, Sammy," Dean growled.

"Just let him drive, Dean," Hannah urged, pushing herself off the hood. "We'll clean it tomorrow. Now can we just go to a motel? We're giving Oscar the Grouch a run for his money."

He must have been too tired to argue because he handed Sam the keys without a fight.

* * *

"One room, please," Dean told the clerk at the front desk of the lobby.

The clerk studied the three of them dubiously. Hannah was certain he wondering why in the world she and Dean covered from head to two in dirt while Sam stood behind them awkwardly.

"You three having a reunion or something?" the clerk asked while looking at Dean's Mastercard.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked him.

"I had another guy, Burt Aframin. He came and bought out a room for the whole month," explained the clerk.

He handed Dean back the Mastercard and the three trudged to their motel room.

"Hey, I'm going to get changed. When you two are done checking out your dad's room, do you mind bringing me my clothes from the car?" Hannah asked, eager to rid herself of the dry mud on her.

"Yeah, sure," Sam said, nodding distractedly as he picked the lock.

"Yes, Dean?" Hannah raised an eyebrow at Dean who stared at her with an inscrutable expression.

Dean blinked then shook his head, waving a dismissive hand at her. _Weird,_ she thought then shrugged it off. Hannah unlocked their room door and made a beeline for the bathroom, locking it behind her and stripping immediately.

The shower took nearly an hour since the dirt had dried on her by the time they reached the motel. Hannah hummed Britney Spears' _I'm a Slave 4 U_ as she lathered conditioner into her hair. Steam shrouded the inside of the bathroom when she finally turned off the shower.

Her pale skin was tinged with pink from the hot water. Wrapping a towel securely around her body after drying herself with it, Hannah squeezed water from her hair over the sink before tentatively opening the door. She frowned when she realized the boys hadn't returned from John's room yet. The last thing Hannah wanted was for Dean to just walk in here and see her half na—

The door swung open, and Dean strolled in. Sam followed closely behind, carrying Hannah's luggage. Dean froze at the sight of her, his jaw going slack. An awkward silence fell over them. Without hesitation, Hannah grabbed the luggage and would have dashed back into the bathroom if it wasn't so heavy.

"Thanks!" she called as she slammed the door behind her. "Oh my God."

_Why am I embarrassed anyway? I used to be a swimmer, I've showed more skin than I was showing out there_, Hannah wondered. Maybe it was just being half naked in front of Dean that made her feel so self-conscious.

After changing her clothes, Hannah shyly opened the bathroom door. "Did you guys find anything?" she asked, bringing her luggage over to the foot of one of the beds.

"Well, we found out that Constance is a woman in white," Sam answered, looking at her. "All her victims are cheaters."

"If John was here, wouldn't he have destroyed her corpse?" Hannah questioned.

"That's what I said," Dean said.

Hannah adjusted her hamsa amulet. "Looks like we'll have to talk to her husband."

"Yeah, before we do, uh, I'm gonna grab a bite to eat in that diner across the street. You guys want anything?" Dean said, getting up from the edge of the bed.

"Nothing for me," Sam declined, shaking his head.

"Strawberry milkshake, please!" Hannah said, smiling at him.

Dean looked like he wanted to laugh at her. "You are such a kid."

He left the motel room, and not long after that did Sam's phone ring. Hannah watched him, noticing the confusion drawn on his face. She followed him as he went over to the window. She let out a small gasp when she saw Dean get apprehended by the police. Dean fidgeted and glanced in their direction. Hannah swallowed thickly and darted away from the window when the sheriff jerked his thumb at their motel room.

"Come on," Sam urged, leading Hannah away. "Dean says to find Dad without him. We'll bail him out later."

Reluctantly, Hannah climbed out of the bathroom window after Sam, pouting the entire time. It wasn't until they were in the Impala did he speak.

"Dean's going to be fine, Han," Sam assured her.

"It's not him. I just really wanted a milkshake," Hannah mumbled petulantly.

Sam stared at her incredulously before shaking his head.

* * *

After much bugging, Hannah managed to convince Sam to let her drive the Impala to the abandoned house on Breckenridge road.

Dean called by the time the sky had darkened. "_Fake 911 phone call? Sammy, I don't know, that's pretty illegal_."

"Your welcome," Hannah said as Sam put the phone on speaker. She and Sam shared a grin.

"You're on speaker," Sam informed him.

"_Listen, we gotta talk_."

"Tell me about it. So the husband was unfaithful. We are dealing with a woman in white," Hannah updated, practically bouncing in the driver's seat.

"And she's buried behind her old house, so that should have been Dad's next stop," Sam added, grinning at her.

"_Would you guys shut up for a second?_"

"I just can't figure out why John hasn't destroyed the corpse yet," Hannah pondered aloud.

"_Well, that's what I'm trying to tell you guys. He's gone. Dad left Jerich_o," Dean revealed.

"What? How do you know that?" Sam asked, creasing his brows.

"I've got his journal."

Sam looked at Hannah, frowning. "He doesn't go anywhere without that thing."

"_Yeah, well, he did this time_."

"What does it say?" Hannah inquired, keeping her eyes on the road.

"_Ah, the same old ex-Marine crap when he wants to let us know where he's going_," Dean answered, sounding flummoxed with the whole situation.

"Coordinates? Where to?" Hannah asked.

"_I'm not sure._"

"I don't understand. I mean, what could be so important that Dad would just skip out in the middle of a job? Dean, what the hell is going on?" Sam said, worry coloring his voice.

Hannah gasped hen she noticed a woman standing in the middle of the road. She slammed the brake, bringing the car to a screeching halt as it slowed down right through the woman. Sam dropped his phone to the ground, looking around wildly. The only sounds Hannah could hear was her and Sam's heavy breathing. She looked in the rearview mirror and gasped. Constance sat in the back seat, glaring at her.

"Take me home," she demanded. Hannah didn't move, only meeting Sam's anxious green eyes. "Take me home!"

"No," Sam said firmly.

The doors locked themselves shut. Hannah tried to reopen hers while Sam did the same, but they stayed shut.

"Don't move, Hannah," Sam commanded. The gas pedal pressed down and the car started to drive by itself. "I said don't move!"

"I'm not! It's her!" Hannah gestured to the ghost in the back. She tried to steer the wheel, but to no avail. "Constance, you don't have to do this."

She ignored them and drove the car faster until they pulled up in front of the abandoned house. The engine shut off, and the darkness surrounded them. Hannah's heart beat so loudly that she was sure Constance could hear it.

"I can never go home," murmured Constance.

"You're scared to go home," Sam figured.

Hannah glanced at the rearview mirror, noticing that Constance was gone. She reappeared, straddling Sam. He struggled as Constance shoved him back so hard that the seat reclined. _Iron. I need iron_, thought Hannah, trying not to panic. She needed to get to the trunk, but the doors were still locked.

"Hold me. I'm so cold," Constance breathed, pressing her body against his.

"You can't kill me. I'm not unfaithful! I've never been!" Sam stated, still resisting her.

"You will be. Just hold me." She grabbed Sam's face and kissed him forcefully. Hannah leaned back in her seat and kicked Constance in her side, knocking her against the window.

Her face flickered, and Hannah widened her eyes. For the briefest of moments, Hannah saw Constance's true visage. Before Constance could attack her, gunshots went off shattering the window on Sam's side. Constance vanished a couple times.

_Time to take her home_, thought Hannah, determined to end this before Sam got even more hurt. Hannah turned on the engine and smashed the Impala through the side of the house. She smacked her face against the wheel, and a searing pain blinded her for a moment.

"Sam! Hannah! You guys okay?" Dean's voice sounded distant.

Tears welled up in her eyes, but Hannah forced out a feeble yes. She heard the driver's door open and arms around her, hoisting her out of the car.

"Sam?" Hannah called out weakly.

"I'm good, Hannah. I just need help getting out," Sam assured her, coughing.

"Hey." Hannah looked up, the dizziness fading. Dean stared at her, concern plain on his face. Oh, that face. She was glad he was holding her. Hannah didn't think she could ignore him if he was staring at her like that. "Ouch. You're bleeding, Princess."

Hannah touched her forehead gingerly and felt something sticky. "I'm not..." She steadied herself against the car. "Go help Sam."

"I'm surprised you didn't get knocked out," Dean noted, going over to help his brother.

"My cranium is like titanium," Hannah joked, then winced. She hoped she wasn't concussed. Her eyes went to Constance, watching as she picked up a framed picture. "Guys?"

Constance looked at them then sent a dresser at the boys, pinning them against the Impala. Hannah moved quickly, ignoring the pain in her head. She reached for Dean's fallen gun, but stopped when the lights flickered. Water cascaded down the stairs. Constance stopped, fearful but she glided over to the bottom of the staircase. At the top, were a boy and a girl holding hands.

"You've come home to us, Mommy," they said in unison.

The woman in white was distraught, the guilt finally overwhelming her. The children faded then flickered behind her. They embraced her tightly, and Constance threw her head back as she wailed, an agonizing sound to Hannah's ears. In a surge of energy, Constance's screaming form and her two children began to dissolve, melting into a puddle into the floor.

Hannah winced when she heard Sam and Dean move the dresser away from them. Dean went over to the spot where Constance vanished.

"So this is where she drowned her kids," he said.

"That's why she could never go home. She was too scared of them," Hannah put together.

"You found her weak spot. Nice work." Dean pounded his fist on Sam's chest as he walked past him. Sam laughed, but his chuckling waned into a groan.

"Yeah, I wish I could say the same for you," Sam said, after getting over the pain. "What were you thinking shooting Casper in the face, you freak?"

"Hey, saved your asses," Dean pointed out. He pointed at Hannah. "I'll tell you another thing. If you screwed up my car? I'll kill you."

Hannah tilted her head back laughing while Sam grinned.

* * *

"Okay, here's where Dad went. It's called Blackwater Ridge, Colorado," Sam told them.

"Sounds charming," quipped Dean from the driver's seat.

"How far?" Hannah asked, giggling at Dean. She kept an ice pack on her forehead, buying one from a convenience store on the way back from the abandoned house.

"About six hundred miles," Sam answered, looking in the backseat. He smiled sympathetically when he saw her pout.

"Hey, if we shag ass we could make it by morning," Dean said.

It was like the wind was knocked out of Hannah, her smile diminishing the longer Sam hesitated. How had she forgotten Sam's interview? The three together, it felt like old times, but Hannah swallowed back her disappointment. She wouldn't interfere with Sam's happiness.

"Dean, I, um..." Sam couldn't get the words out.

"You're not going." Dean sounded like he knew the answer.

"The interview's in like, ten hours. I gotta be there," Sam reminded him.

Dean nodded, turning his attention back to the road. Hannah frowned, wishing she could cheer him up, but knew better than to do it at that moment. Dean seemed more tolerable of her when it was just the two of them. After all, he didn't even want her dad or Sam to see him give her the hamsa amulet for her eleventh birthday.

"Yeah, whatever. I'll take you home," Dean told him. Sam glanced at Hannah before turning off the flashlight.

The rest of the drive was spent in silence. Finally, they reached Sam's apartment. Hannah watched unhappily as Sam got out, listening as he opened the trunk for his duffel bag then closing it shut. She leaned forward when he returned to look through the window.

"Call me if you find him?"

"Of course," Hannah promised.

"And maybe I could meet up with you guys later, huh?" Sam suggested.

"Yeah, all right," Dean said, emotion threatening to reveal itself in his voice.

Sam nodded then turned to head inside, but Dean called him back.

"You know, we made a hell of a team back there," Dean said, putting one arm over the back of the passenger seat.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, almost regretfully.

"Hey, wait." Hannah climbed out of the backseat and went around to hug Sam. He pulled her back fiercely, murmuring for her to watch over his brother. She leaned up and kissed his cheek before returning to the passenger seat. "Bye, Sam."

Dean turned the keys in the ignition and drove off. Hesitantly, Hannah touched Dean's arm. He glanced at her, his eyes guarded.

"What?" he asked flatly.

"Dean, I know you miss him and it's okay that you do." She squeezed his arm gently. "You don't have to do this alone. I mean, no one should."

He didn't say anything. Hannah was about to let go of him and settle back when he finally spoke.

"Why didn't you do what he did?" he questioned.

"Huh?"

"On the bridge, Sam said you went to some top-notch school. Why are you hunting? Why aren't you living the apple pie life like him?"

She wasn't expecting him to ask her that.

"Because living the apple-pie life isn't for me," Hannah said softly. "Didn't you feel weird going to school knowing what you know while everyone else was completely oblivious? I did and I still do. I just _can't_ pretend that there are no demons around, and I can't know everything I do without helping people. So that's why I'm not living some apple-pie life, Dean."

Dean glanced at her from the road. He pulled over into a liquor store parking lot. Dean sat silent for a while, then finally turned to face her. "Hunting is a thankless job, Hannah," he said, somber. "The law is not on our side. People think we're devil-worshipers. This thing we do? It's not fun."

"Most jobs aren't," Hannah countered. "I want to help people yet you and Daddy act so overprotective of me. Do you think I'm not capable of taking care of myself?"

"No," Dean answered at once. "It's not that."

"Then what is it?" she urged, eager to hear.

"You're just so... nice," he said lamely.

Hannah burst out laughing, but swiftly covered it up with a rather unconvincing cough. Dean scowled at her.

"You done?" he asked her. "It may sound silly—"

"It does," Hannah interjected.

"But kindness is a weakness."

"Being kind doesn't make you weak."

"It does when you're hunting," Dean insisted. "It changes you. That vampire case? You almost _died_, Hannah. I'm surprised you aren't suffering that shit soldiers have after the war. I—_we _can't let that happen again. Okay?"

"Dean…" Hannah knew he cared, but hearing his say it made something soft unfurl across her heart.

Dean leaned back, rolling his eyes. "Don't _Dean _me and start that sappy shit, Hannah."

His entire body stiffened when she careened forward, throwing her arms around his neck to hug him. He smelled of leather and musk. His body was warm and nice against hers, even if the position was awkward. She just wished he'd relax and hug her back, but Hannah might have fainted if he did.

"You won't let go if I hug you back, will you?"

"Please?"

"You're the worst."

Dean put one arm around her back, reaching up to pat the back of her head. He wiggled out of her embrace shortly afterwards.

He was about to turn the key in the ignition when he paused. "What is it?" Hannah asked.

"I don't know, it's just a... a gut feeling. Maybe we should go back," Dean suggested, glancing back at her.

"To Sam?"

Dean nodded.

Hannah gestured for him to drive and he obliged. She chewed her lower lip, wondering if Sam was in trouble. Dean had a knack for knowing when someone was in trouble. By the time they reached Sam's apartment, they noticed smoke coming from the window.

They rushed out of the Impala and ran upstairs to his apartment. Dean kicked the door down, yelling for Sam. Hannah noticed that the fire was coming from the bedroom. She covered her mouth with her arm, coughing as she went over to Sam.

She gasped when she looked up at the ceiling. Jess was pinned there and her entire body was consumed by flames.

"Sam, come on!" Hannah shouted, grabbing him.

"No! No!" Sam screamed, still struggling as Dean pushed him out the door. Hannah followed closely behind, tears pricking her eyes from the sound of Sam's cries.

As soon as they escaped, the apartment was engulfed by flames. Sam stopped fighting, and he let out a choked sob. He collapsed to the ground, muttering Jess's name over and over again. Hannah sat down next to him and pulled him into her arms. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer as he cried in her neck.

Hannah rubbed his back soothingly, silent. There was nothing she could say at the moment that could comfort him.

The fire department arrived, and after a while, Sam's weeping stopped. He let go of Hannah and stood up abruptly. Hannah watched from the ground as he opened the trunk to the Impala, widening her eyes when he began loading a shotgun. She exchanged a worried look with Dean.

Sighing, Sam put the shotgun back in the trunk then slammed it shut.

"We got work to do."

She wasn't sure if her goosebumps were from the death of Sam's girlfriend or his ominous words.

* * *

**A/N: **Here is a cast of my OCs.

**Alison Brie **as **Hannah Singer**

**Mary-Louise Parker** as **Jackie Winchester**

**Deborah Ann Woll **as **Lydia Porter**

**Alexandra Breckenridge **as **Abigail**

**Tessa Thompson **as **Egypt**


	2. Wendigo

**A/N: **I'd like to thank _J3VF_, _bjq,_ and _RebornRose1992 _for the awesome reviews. Also, thank you for everyone following and favoriting this story!

**2.**

**Wendigo**

The car ride to Blackwater Ridge was silent with the exception of the radio playing inside the Impala. Hannah was able to tune it out as she read her magazine. Hannah was about to turn the page when Sam flinched awake, alarming both her and Dean. She and Dean locked eyes through the rearview mirror, concern subtle on his features.

"Are you okay?" asked Hannah gently.

"Yeah. I'm fine," Sam said, smiling wanly.

_Liar_, she thought. Ever since Jessica died, Sam had awful nightmares. No matter how much Hannah pestered him, he refused to talk about it. Dean claimed that Sam was the "sensitive" one, but that was untrue. Neither of them were open about their feelings.

"You want to drive for a while?" Dean offered. He narrowed his eyes at Hannah who tried to smother a startled laugh. "What's so funny?"

"Dean, in your whole life, you've never once asked me that," Sam said, chuckling. When Dean glanced at Hannah, she hid her smile behind her magazine.

His eyes went back to the road. "Just thought you might want to. Never mind," Dean replied defensively.

"You should drive, Sam," encouraged Hannah. "I find it relaxing."

"The last time you drove, you crashed my Baby into a house," pointed out Dean. Hannah rolled her blue eyes at the reminder. He was still sour over that, but she had only been trying to save Sam.

"Look, guys, you're worried about me. I get it, and thank you, but I'm perfectly okay," Sam told them.

"Mm-hm," Dean and Hannah hummed, both doubtful.

Did Sam think they were idiots? Hannah actually found the implication offensive. No sane person would be "perfectly okay" after witnessing their lover of two years burn to death. Even worse, it was the same way his mother died. Hannah was certain she would be a crying mess if she were in Sam's position.

Eager to change the subject, Sam asked for the map. Hannah handed it to him and watched as he unfolded it. She informed them that they were just outside of Grand Junction.

"You know what?" started Sam, setting down the map. "Maybe we shouldn't have left Stanford so soon."

"Sam, we dug around there for a week. We came up with nothing. If you want to find the thing that killed Jessica—"

"We got to find Dad first," Sam interjected. There was an edge to his voice.

"It can't be a coincidence," she murmured, tucking loose strands of brown hair behind her ear.

"No, it can't," Dean agreed solemnly. "Dad will have answers. He'll know what to do."

"It's weird," Sam spoke up. He shook his head, bemused. "These coordinates he left us, this Blackwater Ridge..."

"What about them?" Dean questioned, glancing at him.

"There's nothing there," he answered, putting down the map. "It's just woods. Why is he sending us to the middle of nowhere?"

Hannah looked out the window and saw a National Forest sign that said, "Welcome to Lost Creek Colorado National Forest." She frowned, knowing that whatever was in the woods was not going to be an easy task for the three of them.

* * *

Sam and Hannah studied the small 3D model sitting on a table in the middle of the room they were in.

"So Blackwater Ridge is pretty remote. It's cut off by these canyons here, rough terrain, dense forest, abandoned silver, and..." Sam frowned when he noticed Dean paying more attention to the decorations than the information he listed. "And Dean's not listening."

"Dude, check out the size of this freaking bear," Dean said, awe coloring his voice.

"And a dozen or more grizzlies in the area," Sam informed them. "It's no nature hike, that's for sure."

Hannah drifted over to where Sam and Dean stood, looking at the framed picture of a man standing behind a huge bear. She nibbled on her lower lip, hoping they wouldn't encounter any grizzlies. She jumped when someone jabbed her ribcage. She wiggled away from Dean, swatting his hands away. Hannah and Dean continued to hit one another until someone cleared their throat.

"You three aren't planning on going out near Blackwater Ridge by any chance?" inquired a man dressed in a ranger's uniform.

"Oh no, sir, we're environmental study majors from UC Boulder," Hannah hurriedly said, smiling sheepishly.

"We're working on a paper," added Sam, then coughed. Dean and Hannah were still in mid-fight. Dean let go of Hannah's wrists and raised his fist.

"Recycle, man," Dean said lamely.

"Bullshit," the ranger called out. Hannah's eyes flickered to the boys, her whole body tense. "You're friends with that Haley girl, right?"

"Yes," Dean answered after considering whether he should lie. "Yes we are, Ranger..." He read the nametag. "Wilkinson."

"Well, I'll tell you exactly what we told her. Her brother filled out a backcountry permit saying he wouldn't be back from Blackwater until the twenty-fourth, so it's not exactly a missing persons now, is it? You tell that girl to quit worrying, I'm sure her brother's just fine."

"We will," Hannah promised.

"Well, that Haley girl's quite a pistol, huh?" Dean commented.

"That is putting it mildly," concurred Ranger Wilkinson.

"Actually, it would help if we could show her a copy of that permit," Dean said, making the ranger pause on his way back to his office. "You know, so she could see her brother's return date."

Hannah suppressed a smile as Ranger Wilkinson and Dean stared each other down. Finally, the ranger told them to wait there as he went to make a copy of the permit. As soon as he left, Hannah hit Dean's gut.

He glared at her and was about to grab at her, but the ranger returned and Dean took the permit. As they walked out of the station, Dean held the permit up and laughed.

"What, are you cruising for a hookup or something?" Sam asked his brother.

"No hookups!" Hannah exclaimed. "We have to stay focused. No hanky-panky on the job."

"Why are you looking at _me _while you say this?" Dean questioned, narrowing his eyes at her.

"It applies to all of us," Hannah replied breezily. "But _you _are, um, how can I put this delicately? A slut? Yeah, you're a slut, Dean."

Dean gaped at her as she climbed in the backseat. He looked up at Sam who had an amused expression on his face.

"Can you believe her?" he asked. Sam shrugged and got inside the passenger seat. Rolling his eyes, Dean slid inside the driver's seat.

* * *

Playing with the sleeves of her cardigan, Hannah waited for Haley Collins to answer the door. The girl in question opened the front door, but left the screen one shut.

"I'm Dean, this is Hannah, and that's Sam. We're rangers with the Park Service. Ranger Wilkinson sent us over. He wanted us to ask a few questions about your brother Tommy."

"Let me see some ID," Haley ordered.

Dean fished out his fake ID from his pocket then pressed it against the screen door. She examined it then looked at Dean. He smiled. Haley opened the screen door and stepped aside to let them in.

"That yours?" Haley asked, catching sight of the Impala.

"Yeah," Dean replied, standing up a little straighter.

"Nice car," Haley said as she led them through the house. Dean glanced in Hannah's direction and grinned. Hannah rolled her eyes.

"So if Tommy's not due back for a while, how do you know something's wrong?" Sam inquired, when they settled in the kitchen.

"He checks in every day by cell," Haley replied as she placed a bowl on the table. "He emails, photos, stupid little videos—we haven't heard anything in over three days now."

"Well, maybe he can't get cell reception," Hannah suggested. That could be a practical reason as to why Tommy hadn't called his sister.

"He's got a satellite phone, too," Haley frowned.

"Could it be he's just having fun and forgot to check in?" Dean considered.

Haley's younger brother slammed his fork and knife down on the table, making Hannah jump.

"He wouldn't do that," he told them firmly. He turned away, uncomfortable when Dean looked at him.

"Our parents are gone," Haley explained. "It's just my two brothers and me. We all keep pretty close tabs on each other."

"You mentioned he sent you pictures. Do you mind showing us?" Hannah asked.

"Yeah." Haley nodded and went over to her computer. Hannah and the boys followed her and stood behind her as she found the pictures. "That's Tommy."

She clicked on a video of her brother inside his tent. "_Hey, Haley. Day six. We're still out near Blackwater Ridge. We're fine, keeping safe, so don't worry, okay? Talk to you tomorrow_."

Hannah watched a shadow shift in the background of the video. She was certain Sam noticed the quick movement, but didn't know about Dean who was more focused on Haley than the video.

"Well, we'll find your brother. We're heading out to Blackwater Ridge first thing," Dean said, trying to assure her that they'd deal with her missing brother.

"Then maybe I'll see you there." _What? _Hannah thought, startled. "Look, I can't sit around here anymore, so I hired a guide. I'm heading out in the morning, and I'm going to find Tommy myself."

This was going to be a disaster and Hannah just knew that. They couldn't have Haley tagging along on their hunt. It was just too dangerous, especially if this creature had possibly killed Tommy. Then there was Dean.

"I think I know how you feel." Hannah refrained from rolling her eyes at Dean's attempts at being comforting. Why couldn't he just keep it in his pants and focus on the hunt?

"Hey, do you mind forwarding these to me?" Sam asked Haley.

"Sure." Haley shrugged and the two exchanged emails.

As they left the Collins house, Dean blocked Hannah from getting inside the Impala.

"Princess," he started, grinning as she began to frown. "There's no need for jealousy."

"_What_?" Hannah widened her eyes. "You think that _I'm _jealous?"

Dean shrugged, but that grin remained. "You looked so pissed in there when I was talking to Haley. I was just trying to ease her worries."

Hannah made an indignant sound. "First off, I am _not_ your princess. Secondly, I am not jealous. Why would I be jealous of _you_?"

"Who knows? Maybe you're secretly into me and that's why you made up this stupid rule of 'no hanky-panky' on the job. And who says that anymore? Are we in the fifties?"

Her face was warm. Did he really know? Had he known all along? Hannah couldn't risk it. She scoffed instead. "I am _so _not into you."

"You say that, but I bet you fantasize about me."

"I don't fantasize about _anybody__!"_

Hannah tried to ignore the heat rushing to her face. He could be such a jerk sometimes. She pushed him away and climbed into the backseat of the Impala, seething when she heard him laugh.

* * *

Bars were not places Hannah frequented. She was of legal age to drink, but rarely drank alcohol. She disliked beer, finding it too boring and bitter. Dean of course, brought over beers for him and Sam. Hannah was initially going to decline getting something to drink, but somehow ended up nursing a rum and coke.

"So, Blackwater Ridge doesn't get a lot of traffic," Sam told them. "Local campers, mostly. But still, this past April, two hikers went missing out there. They were never found."

"Any before that?" Dean asked.

"Yes." Hannah pulled out a newspaper article. She explained that in 1982, 1936, and 1959 there were attacks that authorities claimed were grizzly bears. "Bears don't attack every twenty-three years."

"Okay, watch this," Sam said as he opened his laptop. "I downloaded that guy Tommy's video to the laptop. Check this out."

Sam went through through the three frames. A shadow crossed the screen. Dean gestured for Sam to do it again. He did it a second time, only this time slower.

"That's three frames. That's a fraction of a second. Whatever that thing is, it can move," Sam remarked.

Dean hit Sam then poked Hannah in her ribs. She jumped and glared at him. He knew that she was ticklish there.

"Told you guys something weird was going on," Dean said triumphantly.

"There's more," Hannah said, showing them another newspaper. "In 'fifty-nine, one camper survived this supposed 'grizzly attack.' He was just a child, barely crawling out of the woods alive."

"Is there a name?" Dean asked her.

"Yes!" Hannah answered a bit too loudly. "Sorry. I think I'm buzzed."

"I've never seen you drunk before," Dean reflected. He pushed her drink closer to her.

"And you never will," Hannah replied, pushing back the drink. She stood up slowly, gathering her things. "Come on. I'll tell you guys on the way there."

* * *

After speaking to Shaw, a man attacked by something he believed was a demon, they returned to their car.

"Spirits and demons don't have to unlock doors if they want inside. They just go through the walls," Hannah noted.

"That's what I was thinking," Dean said. He opened the trunk to the Impala then propped open the false bottom with a shotgun. Hannah picked up a pistol, feeling the weight of it in her hand.

"So it's probably something else, something corporeal," Sam said. He frowned at the handgun in Hannah's hand.

"Corporeal? Excuse me, professor," joked Dean.

"Shut up," retorted Sam. "So, have any ideas?"

"The claws, the speed that it moves... could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog. Whatever we're talking about, we're talking about a creature, and it's corporeal. Which means we can kill it," Dean answered as he put some weapons in a duffel bag. "Give me that."

"Bam." Hannah pretended to shoot him then blew invisible smoke away from the barrel. Dean snorted and took it from her.

"We can't let that Haley girl go out there," Sam stated. Hannah nodded in agreement.

"Oh yeah?" Dean turned to them. "What are we going to tell her? That she can't go into the woods because of a big scary monster?"

"No, but we can't have a bigger body count," Hannah pointed out. "You heard that old man in there. Whatever is out there, it's unsafe for anyone other than hunters to be around."

"Her brother is missing." Dean sounded annoyed. "She's not gonna just sit this out. Now we go with her, we protect her, and we keep our eyes peeled for our fuzzy predator friend."

"Finding Dad is not enough?" Sam demanded. He slammed the weapon's box shut then the trunk after Dean took the duffel bag out. "Now we got to babysit, too?"

Hannah raised her eyebrows at him. Jessica's death really took a toll on Sam, turning him into some willful, revenge-seeking hunter. It reminded her of John Winchester. She wasn't close to the man like how she was with his sons, but she could see how consumed he was with avenging Mary's death.

She hoped Sam didn't turn out the same way.

* * *

Staying in motels had always been an awkward process for Hannah. The first time she, Sam, and Dean stayed in one, they spent ten minutes arguing about who would take one of the queen beds and the couch.

Sam was more of a gentleman than Dean, so he offered Hannah one of the queens. Then Hannah felt bad because she was sure the couch felt uncomfortable to sleep on, so _she _offered to sleep on the couch. Dean pointed out that Sam's legs were too long for the couch so he claimed it. In the end, they just decided that Dean and Sam would take turns sleeping on the couch.

When Hannah woke, she used her elbow to prop herself up. Rousing herself out of bed, Hannah walked to the bathroom, still half asleep. The bathroom door was locked, and Hannah knocked on it lightly. Dean was still sleeping, one leg sticking out from his sheets, so Sam must have been in the bathroom.

"Sam?" she croaked then cleared her throat. "Are you okay in there?"

"I'm fine," he called from inside. His voice trembled as he spoke, and Hannah frowned. "I'll be out in a minute."

Hannah took a step back from the door and sat down on the edge of Dean's bed. She turned and looked at him. He looked so... vulnerable, so unlike the cocky person he usually was. Hannah touched his shoulder and shook him gently.

He groaned and shifted on his side. Hannah shook him again. Dean lifted his head and smiled sleepily at her. Her voice was lost in her throat just from that smile. He looked so much better than her when waking up. She was sure her hair was a mess and her lips were chapped.

Before Hannah could say anything, she heard the bathroom door open.

"We have to get ready," she murmured, getting off the bed.

"Right," mumbled Dean. He followed her into the bathroom where they brushed their teeth beside each other.

"I'm worried about Sam," whispered Hannah after she spat out her toothpaste.

Dean ducked his head to spit out his toothpaste. "So am I."

"He's becoming reckless."

"I know."

Hannah swished some water around in her mouth before spitting it out in the sink. "Dean, what are we going to do?"

"Nothing," he answered, turning off the sink. He paused on his way out the door when Hannah grabbed his arm. "Give him some space. He'll talk about it when he wants to."

"And if he doesn't?" Hannah questioned, locking eyes with him.

"Then we'll just let it go," Dean replied, then glanced at the shower. "Now do you want to shower first or should I?"

"I will." Hannah pushed past him to retrieve her things. Why were boys so frustrating? Why did they insist on _not _talking about their feelings?

She showered then changed into some appropriate hiking clothes: an olive green t-shirt, black yoga pants, and a heather grey pullover hoodie. Hannah stepped out of the bathroom and gestured for Dean to go in.

He brushed past her, and Hannah paused when she felt his fingers graze her thigh. It was an accident, she dismissed. Dean wouldn't be so bold. Hannah grabbed her hamsa amulet from the dresser and clasped the chain around her neck.

Sam was sitting on the couch, studying the folder filled with information about their case. Hannah plopped down beside him.

"You look ready to hike," Sam commented, looking up from his folder.

"We have to look the part as, you know, rangers," Hannah said as she slipped on some socks then tennis shoes. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

"Okay," Sam said, laughing a little.

"I mean it." The seriousness in her voice made Sam's laughter die down.

"Hannah, I'm fine," Sam insisted with a smile. It didn't reach his eyes.

Dean stepped out nine less than fifteen minutes later, dressed in only his jeans and an amulet. He toweled his head dry as he searched for a shirt. Hannah turned away before he could notice her staring.

Hannah didn't need Dean convinced that she actually had a thing for him because she _so _didn't.

* * *

"Great," she heard Sam mutter as they pulled up in front of the forest. Haley and her brother stood with their guide.

"Remember, Dean. No—"

"Hanky-panky. You said that for the fifteenth time," Dean interrupted, turning around in his seat to give her a sardonic smile. "Like I'd get it on in the woods."

"That's the thing. You would," Sam retorted. Dean rolled his eyes and stepped out of the Impala. As Hannah climbed out, she heard the trunk slam shut.

"You guys got room for three more?" Dean asked Haley, grinning.

"Wait, you want to come with us?" Haley asked, her voice laced with incredulity.

Sam hit Hannah with the duffel bag as he walked past her. She stumbled, and the guide caught her arm.

"Thanks," she said, glaring at Sam.

"No problem, miss..." The guide trailed off.

"I'm Hannah," she introduced, smiling. "That's Dean and Sam. We're park rangers."

"Uh-huh." The guide stared at her and the boys warily. "_You're_ rangers?"

"That's right," Dean called from behind Hannah.

"Personally, I'd be a power ranger," Hannah confessed.

"And you're hiking out in biker boots and jeans?" Haley chided Dean.

"Well, sweetheart, I don't do shorts," Dean retorted.

The guide looked agitated with Dean. "What, you think this is funny? It's dangerous backcountry out there. Her brother might be hurt."

Sam and Dean both paused. Hannah walked over to them, glancing behind her at Haley and her brother.

"Believe me, I know how dangerous it can be. We just want to help them find their brother, that's all," Dean said lightly, completely unperturbed with the guide's anger.

_This is going to be a long hike_, Hannah thought as she caught up with Sam.

* * *

"I meant to ask, what were you doing before Dean called you?" questioned Sam, breaking the silence they suffered since they started hiking.

"Well, after I graduated from Johns Hopkins, I thought I'd visit my dad. I stayed longer than intended. I was actually looking for a job when Dean called," Hannah answered.

"Nursing right? I was kind of surprised when you chose that," Sam admitted.

"Someone's got to stich up you guys," Hannah said, shrugging. "And I was surprised when you decided to be a lawyer."

"What?" Sam smiled, amused. "Why not?"

Hannah shrugged, smiling too. "You'd always win cases because you're super tall."

He laughed, and everyone glanced back in their direction. Dean raised an eyebrow at her before turning his attention back to Roy the guide.

"That doesn't even make sense," Sam told her.

"Oh, come on, Sammy. You'd make your case against whoever you're facing in court and everyone would be too afraid to say no to you," Hannah said then grinned when Sam laughed even more. This was good. Sam hadn't shown a genuine smile since Jessica died. "I'm kidding."

"I hope so because your argument is absurd."

"Hey! I am _not _absurd."

There was a pause at the head of the group. Hannah peered over Haley's younger brother Ben and saw that Roy and Dean were talking. She inwardly groaned. Dean's arrogance when it came to hunting was making him act like an ass.

They started moving again, but Haley and Dean were standing together. Hannah gave Dean a pointed look as she passed by them. He ignored her and kept talking to Haley. She and Sam hadn't gone too far when Dean caught up with them. Hannah jumped in front of Dean when she noticed him eating peanut butter M&amp;Ms.

"Can I have some?" Hannah asked.

"No," he replied with his mouth full of candy.

"Jerk." Hannah whirled and continued hiking through the forest.

Roy stopped and announced, "This is it. Blackwater Ridge."

Sam stepped in front of Roy. "What coordinates are we at?" he asked the guide.

"Thirty-five and minus one-eleven," he answered after retrieving his GPS.

She felt Sam and Dean stand on either side of her. She strained her ear to hear something, but there was no sound. It was strange.

"Not even crickets," Hannah murmured. Dean nodded in agreement.

"I'm going to take a look around," Roy said from behind them.

"You shouldn't go off alone," Sam advised.

"That's sweet," Roy said derisively. "Don't worry about me."

Roy pushed past Dean, waving his gun at them. _It's like I can smell the testosterone_, Hannah thought as she pulled her hoodie over her shoulders and wrapped the sleeves around her waist. Dean motioned for Haley and Ben to follow them through the woods.

It wasn't until they made it to a clearing did Hannah realized what they were dealing with. The tents were torn and bloody while the supplies were scattered. Haley and Ben were suddenly ashen as they surveyed the camp. Haley dropped her backpack to the ground. "Tommy!" she screamed, taking off. Sam chased after.

"Dean," Hannah called, stepping over a ripped sleeping bag. "I don't think this is a skinwalker or black dog."

"I don't think so either," Dean muttered, looking around. "The bodies were definitely dragged from the campsite, but the tracks just vanish."

"Come on. We need to tell Sam." She grabbed his wrist and the two found him quickly and the two sat down on a log. Hannah leaned down, placing her hand on Sam's broad shoulder as they stared at the vanishing tracks.

After explaining to Sam, Dean stood and headed back to the campsite. Just as she and Sam returned to the campsite, they heard someone shouting.

"_Help! Somebody!"_

Roy led the way as they ran towards the noise, but they found no one. Hannah paused to listen. Whoever was shouting sounded like they were close by, but no one was here. She gasped sharply when she finally realized what they were hunting.

As they headed back to camp, Dean grabbed Hannah's arm and slowed down their pace until they were alone.

"Did you figure out something?" he asked her.

"We're hunting a wendigo," she revealed then waved at Sam. "Get your dad's journal!"

"Oh come on." Dean frowned, disbelieving. "Wendigos are in the Minnesota woods or northern Michigan. I've never even heard of one this far west."

"Well, it's here," Hannah huffed. She turned to Sam and took the journal, flipping pages until she found the page about wendigos.

"Think about it, Dean," Sam said, his eyes scanning the page. "The claws, the way it can mimic a human voice."

"Great," sighed Dean. He held up the pistol he took from Hannah the night before. "Well then this is useless."

Sam shoved John's journal into Dean's chest and headed back to camp. He stopped and turned around to face them.

"We have to get these people to safety," he said, resolute. Hannah and Dean exchanged a worried glance before hurrying after him. "Alright, listen up, it's time to go. Things have gotten... more complicated."

"What?" snapped Haley. She looked close to crying.

"Kid, don't worry. Whatever's out there, I think I can handle it," Roy said.

"It's not _me _I'm worried about," Sam responded. "If you shoot this thing, you're just going to make it mad. We have to leave. Now."

"One, you're talking nonsense. Two, you're in _no _position to give anybody orders," hissed Roy.

"Relax," Dean spoke coolly. For a moment, it seemed like everyone was going to relax until Sam opened his mouth.

"We never should have let you come out here in the first place, alright? I'm trying to protect you."

"Sam," Hannah said lowly. He ignored her, keeping his glare trained on the guide.

Roy stepped towards Sam, appearing quite small compared to him.

"You protect me?" he blazed. "I was hunting these woods when your mommy was still kissing you good night."

"Yeah?" Sam glowered down at Roy. "It's a damn near perfect hunter. It's smarter than you, and it's gonna hunt you down and eat you alive unless we get your stupid sorry ass out of here."

Hannah stared at him, trying to believe that this was the same boy she knew since childhood.

Roy didn't seem intimidated, or maybe he was and only hid it behind a derisive laugh. "You know you're crazy, right?"

"Yeah? You ever hunt a wen—?" Dean shoved his brother back.

"Chill out," he ordered.

"Stop it. Everybody just stop," Haley demanded. "Look, Tommy might still be alive, and I'm not leaving here without him."

A beat passed before someone decided to speak up.

"It's getting late," acknowledged Dean. "This thing is a good hunter in the day, but an unbelievable hunter at night. We'll never beat it, not in the dark. We need to settle in and protect ourselves."

Hannah was already getting started with the Anasazi symbols.

* * *

The sun was low in the sky by the time she and the boys finished protecting the camp from the wendigo. Hannah remembered seeing the symbol in one of the many books back at her dad's library.

Hannah leaned against a tree, watching everyone. Sam sat at the edge of their makeshift camp, brooding silently while Dean talked to Haley. She turned away, irritated. Hannah found Dean's lack of professionalism more annoying than him flirting with a girl. Her scowl softened when she noticed Ben sitting alone. She went over to him and sat down.

"You've been quiet today. Are you alright?" Hannah asked him. Ben nodded, but turned his gaze back to the fire. "I know you're worried about your brother. Don't worry, we'll find him."

"Do you think so?" he asked. Hannah stared, realizing how young this boy was. "What if this... this _thing _has him?"

"Then we'll kill it," Hannah answered dryly. She ignored the snort from Roy, keeping her eyes on Ben. "Sam and Dean? They're professionals at this."

"And you?" he questioned, looking at her.

"I'm... more of a rookie," Hannah said after a moment, smiling sheepishly.

Ben raised his brows at her, but before any of them could say anything further, a cry from outside the circle got everyone's attention. Hannah stood at once and went over to Dean who cocked his pistol.

_"Help!"_ it shouted.

"He's trying to draw us out. Just stay cool, stay put," Dean told everyone calmly.

"Inside the magic circle?" retorted Roy. More screams seemed to unsettle him as reluctantly admitted, "Okay, that's no grizzly."

The bushes rustled, making Haley shriek. _It's here_, Hannah realized. She grabbed a shotgun from Dean's duffel bag and waited. The rustling continued and Hannah jumped when she heard a gunshot. It was Roy and he was _grinning_.

"I hit it!" he exclaimed. He stepped out of the circle, and Hannah chased after him.

"Roy! No!" she shouted. She could hear Sam and Dean running behind her.

"It's over here!" yelled Roy. "It's in the tree!"

Hannah came to a crashing halt when she saw two hands grab Roy and snap his neck with a sickening _crack_. For a moment, she could not move. Someone grabbed her hand with such force it knocked her out of her stunned state.

"Come on!" shouted Dean, hauling her back to the campsite. When they made it back inside the circle, he grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "What were you thinking? You could have died!"

"I didn't even see it," Hannah whispered, pushing a lock of hair away from her face. "I'm sorry. It was just..."

"Instinct?" Sam supplied.

"Yeah." She nodded, the adrenaline slowly fading.

Dean stared at her for a moment, his eyes boring into hers. He dropped his hands from her shoulders and took a step back. There was an apologetic look on his face, but Dean said nothing.

Sam rubbed her back, concern plain on his face. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"No." She shook her head. "We should try and get some sleep."

* * *

Sleep seldom came for Hannah and the others.

If Haley and Ben weren't around, Hannah would have given Dean a long "I told you so" speech because she _had _warned him about the risk of getting a bigger body count if they allowed civvies to tag along on their hunt.

Crawling out of the tent, Hannah found Sam sitting against a hollow tree stump. He played the lanyard attached to John's journal, but there was obviously no intention of opening it. She sat down next to him, nudging him lightly.

"You look tired," Sam noted.

"So do you," Hannah fired back. "When was the last time you got a decent night of sleep, Sam?"

Sam said nothing, still fiddling with the lanyard.

Hannah nibbled on her lower lip, contemplating whether she should express her worries or not. She decided not to, considering they were in the middle of trying to hunt down a wendigo.

Gesturing to the tent where Dean and the others sat near it, Hannah and Sam went over to them. Haley stood when she noticed them.

"So, we've got half a chance in the daylight. And I for one want to kill this evil son of a bitch," Sam voiced.

"Well, hell, you know I'm in," Dean said, grinning. "Princess?"

"I'm ready to kick some wendigo ass," Hannah said, unable to stop the smile from spreading across her face. Dean could be infectious at times.

Everyone gathered around Sam as he read the passage from John's journal. "'Wendigo' is a Cree Indian word. It means 'evil that devours'. They're hundreds of years old. Each one was once a man. Sometimes an Indian, or other times a frontiersman or a miner or hunter."

"How does a man turn into one of those things?" Haley questioned, curious.

"Well, it's always the same. During some harsh winter a guy finds himself starving, cut off from supplies or help. Becomes a cannibal to survive, eating other members of his tribe or camp," Dean answered as he picked some things up from the ground.

"Gross," Hannah uttered.

Dean and the others nodded in agreement.

"Like the Donner Party," Ben said.

Sam nodded. "Cultures all over the world believe that eating human flesh gives a person certain abilities. Speed, strength, immortality."

"If you eat enough of it, over years, you become this less than human thing. You're always hungry," Hannah added then made a face. "Again, gross."

"So if that's true, how can Tommy still be alive?" Haley asked them.

The three hunters exchanged hesitant glances. "You're not gonna like it," Dean warned, but Haley insisted so he did. "More than anything, a wendigo knows how to last long winters without food. It hibernates for years at a time, but when it's awake it keeps its victims alive. It, uh, it stores them, so it can feed whenever it wants. If your brother's alive, it's keeping him somewhere dark, hidden, and safe. We gotta track it back there."

Haley nodded, looking paler than before. "And how do we stop it?" she asked.

"Well, guns are useless, so are knives," Hannah answered then looked at Dean.

He held up a can of lighter fluid and gasoline. "We have to torch the sucker."

They spent the next few hours following trees with bloody claw marks on them. Sam called her and Dean over where they regarded the broken branches and claw marks.

"You know, I was thinking, those claw prints, so clear and distinct. They were almost—"

"Too easy to follow?" Hannah guessed. "I was thinking the same."

A beastly growl startled Hannah, making her whirl to see nothing. The trees rustled, almost as if the wendigo was taunting them. Haley shrieked and leaped out of the way where a body fell from the tree.

_Roy_. Hannah swallowed thickly and went over to Haley, lending her a hand. She accepted it graciously and dusted herself off.

"His neck's broken," Dean told them. He stiffened when they heard another growl. "Okay. _Run! Go!"_

Hannah ran as fast as she could. She heard someone trip and fall, and was about to stop, but she was running so fast she couldn't stop. Suddenly, a pale, thin beast emerged in front of her. The wendigo screamed and swiped at her, but she sidestepped it. Hannah's back collided with a tree. Its narrow face was before her, white pupils moving rapidly as it stared at her. She couldn't breathe. If she moved, it was over.

"Hey, ugly!" shouted a familiar voice.

The wendigo roared, the sound thundering through her. It suddenly disappeared, attacking whoever shouted. Hannah searched wildly for anyone else. She tripped and fell down a slope. Twigs and rocks scratched at her as she rolled down. Hannah hastily brought her arms over her head, protecting herself from the impact approaching.

Someone was panting above her. Hannah looked up and saw pale eyes. _No_, she wanted to scream and did when the wendigo roared and grabbed her.

* * *

Dean was shaken awake, his vision bleary. He winced at the sound of Sam's voice then gently nodded his head.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said groggily. He squinted, looking around the dark mine as Sam cut him down from the ceiling with a knife. "Where's Hannah?"

Sam didn't answer as he helped Dean down. He groaned as he was seated on the ground. Haley was ridding herself of the rope around her wrists.

"Where's Hannah?" Dean demanded. He remembered the wendigo had nearly gotten her, but he had distracted the monster. She should have been fine.

"Ben fell so I helped him up. I thought she had gotten taken too," Sam finally said.

"Wait, Hannah is out there _alone _while there's a fucking wendigo roaming those woods!" Dean shouted, rousing himself up. His jaw tightened, wanting to punch something. "Cut Haley's brother down. I'm going after her."

"You can't go out there," Sam said, his eyes widening. "You're still in pain! You could get the both of you killed!"

"I can't let her die," Dean snapped, straightening himself up. He spotted something piled in the corner. "Check it out."

"Flare guns. Those will work," Sam realized with a grin. Dean grinned back, but his heart wasn't in it.

All he could worry about was Hannah lost in the woods with that wendigo.

* * *

Before she opened her eyes, she felt her body being dragged through dirt. Fluttering her lashes open, Hannah suppressed a scream.

The wendigo caught her. It must have kidnapped the others and went back for her. She tilted her head, noticing that she was being taken to a mine. Hannah grimaced and tried to cover her head with her hood, the pain intensifying as the wendigo dragged her through the mine. She writhed her body, but its grip on her was tight. She cried out when the wendigo suddenly dropped her and disappeared.

"Hannah," a familiar voice whispered.

"What...?" she moaned, still in pain.

Arms went around her, lifting her up. Hannah's vision went black for a second. "What happened?"

"Dean?" Hannah let her head roll forward, bumping into his shoulder. "I think I fell."

A shot went off and from a distance, Hannah could see light illuminate the dark mine.

"Stay behind me," Dean instructed quietly. Hannah moved behind him and clutched the back of his shirt. "Hey!"

The wendigo whirled. Dean raised his flare gun and shot it in the stomach. Almost immediately, the wendigo was consumed by flames. Hannah gasped and watched the wendigo burn to death.

Dean looked over his shoulder and grinned at her. "Not bad, huh?"

She grinned back and let out a breathless, relieved laugh.

* * *

They returned to the motel after seeing Haley and her brothers leave Blackwater Ridge with the ambulance. Hannah collapsed on the bed and groaned into the pillow. One of the paramedics checked her head and told her she had a concussion, but would recover in a few hours.

"I'm going to get something for us to eat," Dean announced.

"Arghmm," mumbled Hannah, her face still in the pillow.

"I think she says she wants a milkshake," Sam said, sounding amused.

"You got it, Princess," chuckled Dean.

Hannah mumbled her usual retort and winced when the door slam shut. She was dozing off for a few minutes when she heard strangled cries coming from the bathroom. Lifting her head gingerly, Hannah listened for the noise.

_Sam_, she realized. Slowly, Hannah pushed herself off the bed and padded over to the bathroom door. She leaned her head against the door gently, frowning.

"Sammy," she murmured, "Since we left Stanford, you keep insisting that you're fine, but you're really not. And don't lie to me because this camping trip just proved it, but you know what? It's _okay_ to be sad, Sam. I would be too if I had known Jessica for as long as you did." She rolled her body so her back rested against the door instead. "It's going to be okay, Sam."

"No, it won't be okay," Sam said, emotion thick in his voice. "The love of my life just _died _and I saw it before it even happened!"

"What do you mean you saw it?" Hannah asked, confused.

"Nothing. Just forget it."

"Did you see it as in, like... a premonition?"

"I said forget it," he snapped.

"Why didn't you tell me? Or De—?"

"Tell you?" The door swung open so abruptly that Hannah stumbled back into the bathroom. When she turned to face him, she was stunned to see how _angry _he was. "I haven't seen you in three years! How was I supposed to tell you?"

"I... I thought we were closer than that," Hannah stammered. "Three years is nothing, Sam. We still talked on the phone."

"Rarely," Sam scoffed, shaking his head. "Three years can change a person, Hannah. I had a good life. I was going to Stanford. Jess and I were going to get married. While you... you kept doing this stuff, this supernatural stuff."

"Sam—"

"You say you thought we were closer than that? I never thought about you once back in Stanford."

"You don't mean that." Hannah hoped her voice didn't betray how close to crying she was.

"Don't I?" he asked coldly.

"What's the matter with you?"

"What's the matter?" Sam laughed mirthlessly. "Hannah, Jess just _died_ and I'm here arguing with a child about telling secrets."

He pushed past her as he left the bathroom, striding across the room and nearly knocking Dean down as he walked out the front door. Dean looked back at the door then at Hannah who meekly stepped out of the bathroom.

"What twisted his panties?" Dean questioned after swallowing down some French fries he had been devouring as he entered their motel room. A choked sob escaped her lips before she could even compose herself. "Hey, why are you crying?"

"Sam, he..." Hannah's whimpering made it hard to speak.

"_Sam _made you cry?" Dean demanded then headed over to the door. "Hold on, I'll get him."

"Don't! It isn't his fault," cried Hannah. Her head pounded from the pain, both from the concussion and Sam. "I tried to make him open up about Jessica. You saw how he was during this hunt. But... he snapped at me. I should have given him space like you told me to."

"Han." She looked up from her hands to see Dean staring down at her with a soft look in his eyes. "It isn't your fault."

"Sam thinks so," she mumbled. Her face was crushed into Dean's chest. Was he… was he _hugging _her?

"Well, Sam's emotional right now," Dean told her. "But don't worry about it. I'm sure he'll apologize when he comes back. Sam's nice like that."

"You're nice too."

"I'm not nice."

"Yes you are," Hannah insisted, beaming at him. "And you're sweet too, like a teddy bear."

His mouth twisted into a grimace. "... Don't ever compare me to a teddy bear," he said.

"Why not?" She buried her face in his chest. It was rare for Dean to actually hug her. Hannah was going to take advantage of it. "You're nice and you give nice hugs."

"I'm not _only _good at hugging, Princess."

Hannah shoved him away. "Oh my God, Dean! Do you _always _have to ruin the moment?"

"Hey, I'm just being honest," Dean shrugged, smirking.

She rolled her eyes, but smiled at him. "But really, thanks Dean," she said.

"Ah, it's nothing." He rubbed the nape of his neck. "Hey, just don't say anything to Sam, alright? I told him no chickflick moments and if he knows I broke my rule, he'll think he can too." He looked back at the takeout bag then at the T.V. "Want to dig in? I even got you a strawberry milkshake."

"Yay." Hannah turned on the T.V. and the two ate burgers and French fries. She nearly choked on her food because of Dean's silly commentary for the completely inaccurate _Van Helsing_.


	3. Dead in the Water

**A/N: **Special thanks to _pattycakes2000_, _RebornRose1992_, _Selina_, and some guests for reviewing.

**3.**

**Dead in the Water**

"_Hey now, hey now. Don't dream it's over. Hey now, hey now. When the world comes in. They come, they come. To build a wall between us. We know they won't win_," sang Hannah as she applied her mascara.

"Please stop singing," called Dean flatly from outside the bathroom door. "You sound terrible."

"I do not!" Hannah exclaimed, swinging the door open. "Will you just shut up and let me listen to some Crowded House in peace?"

"Oh, listen all you want. Just don't sing," Dean drawled, not looking up from the edge of the bed where he laced up his boots.

"Rude," huffed Hannah, returning to her task. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Sam slowly approach the doorway. "Yes?"

"Hannah, I'm sorry," he apologized, "I didn't mean to blow up. It's just..."

She set down her mascara and turned to face Sam, waiting expectantly for him to continue.

"I'm not used to anyone asking me to, you know, open up. I guess I got overwhelmed when you tried to do it," he continued, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "So, I'm sorry... again."

"Don't worry about it. I was never really mad at you," Hannah replied, smiling a little.

"But I made you cry," Sam pointed out, frowning.

"You did, as embarrassing as that was," she admitted, sheepish. "I forgive you, Sam. Only on one condition."

"What?" he asked warily.

Hannah opened her arms, and laughed when Sam swept her into a hug.

* * *

Ever since departing from South Dakota, Hannah hadn't been able to mull over how far from home she was. Only now as they drove out of Colorado, Hannah was starting to feel homesick.

_What would I be doing now if I was at home? _Hannah wondered, sprawled out in the backseat of the Impala.

She'd probably help research something for her dad, assist him in selling some scraps from the salvage yard, or maybe watch _The Real World_. Her dad claimed that the only reason he watched reality TV was because of her, but once Hannah caught him watching _My Super Sweet 16_. He forced her to never to speak of it.

"Why so quiet?" Dean inquired, breaking the silence.

Hannah met his inquisitive stare from the rearview mirror. She bit her bottom lip, contemplating whether she should tell them she felt homesick. Dean might take it the wrong way and drive her right back to Sioux Falls.

"No reason," Hannah eventually said, stretching her arms over her head. "So, do you have any idea where your dad might be?"

"Yeah, Dean. Any ideas?" Sam asked. There was an undeniable bite to his tone.

_Oops_.

"He has a trail. We follow it while it's still hot then we find him," Dean replied stiffly.

Eager to change the subject before the boys had another falling out, Hannah asked, "Do you think we could go to the movies at the next town? I'm dying to see the new _Harry Potter_."

Sam snorted at her choice of film while Dean creased his brows in confusion. "You're such a dork," teased Sam, the same time Dean echoed, "_Harry Potter_?"

"Says the guy who joined the Mathletes in high school," Hannah retorted, grinning when Sam rolled his eyes. "And, Dean, _Harry Potter _is the movie about wizards."

"Oh." He waved a dismissive hand at her. "I knew that."

Hannah laughed at the obvious lie. Her homesickness was fading, and Hannah knew it would return again, but at least she felt better. She adored moments like these when it was just her and the boys.

* * *

A couple days later, they were eating breakfast at a nearby diner when Hannah found them a job.

She sat next to Dean, reading the newspaper while he devoured his plate of eggs and bacon, looking the least bit attractive. Hannah, on the other hand, ate her pancakes daintily. Sam had finished his breakfast and was in the restroom.

Finishing his plate, Dean began circling obituaries in the newspaper. Hannah would point out something that seemed unusual. Her eyes went to a particular obituary about a girl who drowned in Wisconsin, but the odd thing was that the girl was a varsity swimmer.

"Can I get you anything else?" asked the waitress.

Dean and Hannah both raised their heads, the former slowly grinning around the pen he chewed. Wendy, as her nametag read, smiled back, ignoring Hannah who wished she _so _wasn't witnessing this. Gratefully, Sam returned from the restroom and sat down on the other side of Hannah.

"Just the check, please," he told the waitress politely. Dean watched Wendy flounce away then dropped his head, sighing.

"You know, Sam, we're allowed to have fun once in a while," Dean said, looking back up. He gestured to Wendy, disappointment clear on his features. "_That's _fun."

The brothers stared at each other, and Hannah shook her head in amused disbelief.

"Maybe next time," Hannah said good-naturedly. She took the newspaper from him and handed it to Sam. "Here, look at this.

"A funeral?" Sam questioned, after reading the paper.

"Yeah, it's weird," Dean commented. "They buried an empty coffin. For, uh, closure or whatever."

"Dean," Hannah admonished. Was he really that thoughtless?

"Closure?" Sam echoed crossly. "What closure? People don't just disappear. Other people just stop looking for them."

"Something you want to say to me?" Dean demanded, narrowing his eyes.

_Oh no_, Hannah thought. She hated it when they fought, but her dad once told her that people who fought constantly over the smallest things to major things cared about each other the most. It was no secret that Dean loved his brother to the point he'd go to hell and back for him.

"The trail for Dad. It's getting colder every day," Sam started, exasperated.

"Exactly, so what are we supposed to do?" Dean asked roughly.

"I don't know," Sam replied tersely. "Something. Anything."

"You know what? I'm sick of this attitude," snapped Dean. He turned to Hannah who had been watching them argue back and forth like a tennis match. "Don't you find his attitude annoying?"

Hannah chewed her bottom lip. "Uh..." she glanced at Sam who stared at her expectantly. "Yes, we're searching for your dad, Sam, but we're hunters, and hunters protect people from the things that go bump in the night. You want to help people, don't you?"

Sam gazed about her, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Yes," he answered eventually.

"Good. Then we kill some baddies, save some people, and we find your dad," Hannah said buoyantly. "Now, how far away is Lake Manitoc? Dean?"

The man in question was ogling the waitress. Hannah rolled her eyes and Sam shook his head.

"Dean!" Sam called sharply.

"Huh?" Dean returned his attention back to Sam and Hannah, a glazed look in his eyes.

"Keep it in your pants," Hannah huffed, getting up and collecting her things. "Autobots, let's roll out!"

Sam laughed behind her, while Dean muttered, "You really _are _a dork."

* * *

Hannah tried not to grimace as the Impala approached the Carlton home. She would be posing as a federal agent for the first time, and it made her both anxious and excited. What if they figured out that she was a fake? Would she go to prison?

Dean seemed to be reading her thoughts and smiled lazily at her. "You look like you're about to faint. It's not _that _bad, Princess."

His words didn't cease the nervousness she felt nor did the comforting pat on her back from Sam. Squaring her shoulders, Hannah waited for someone to answer the door after Dean knocked on it.

"Will Carlton?" Dean assumed as a young man swung the front door open.

"Yeah, that's right," he affirmed quietly.

"I'm Agent Ford. This is Agent Hamill and Agent Fisher." The boys held up their false IDs easily while Hannah fumbled for hers. Sam suppressed a smile while Dean kept his face impassive. "We're with the US Wildlife Service."

Will nodded absently, and led them to the lake. Hannah hit Sam's arm when she noticed him grinning at her clumsy hands. She tried not to let a smile slip up when they approached the lake. They questioned Will for some time, but he hadn't seen anything strange.

"Where to next?" Hannah asked Dean, when they were heading back to the car.

"Police station," he replied, unlocking the doors. "You won't go totally mute there, will you?"

Hannah blushed. "No," she mumbled, then hit his arm. "Don't make fun of me. It was my first time."

"Was it good for you as it was for me?"

"Oh, shut up."

Sam peered at them curiously, but Hannah refused to bring it up again as they all climbed inside the Impala and headed to the police station. The drive there did not take too long, and Hannah followed the boys inside the police station. With only a flash of their badges, the sheriff was flagged down almost immediately. Introductions were brief and they were led to his office.

"Now, I'm sorry, but why does the Wildlife Service care about an accidental drowning?" questioned Sheriff Devins.

"You sure it's accidental?" Sam asked, doubtful. "Will Carlton saw something grab his sister."

"Like what?" snorted Sheriff Devins. He gestured for them to sit, but only two chairs were present. Hannah was about sit in one, but Sam did as well. They paused, glancing at the chair then back at each other.

"I'll stand," Sam mumbled, moving so she could sit. Hannah flashed him a smile then sat down, bumping Dean as she lowered herself in the chair.

"There are no indigenous carnivores in that lake. There's nothing even big enough to pull down a person, unless it was the Loch Ness Monster," Sheriff Devins continued.

"Yeah, right." Dean laughed a bit derisively. Hannah could feel the corners of her mouth lift.

"Will Carlton was traumatized, and sometimes the mind plays tricks. Still, we dragged that entire lake. We even ran a sonar sweep, just to be sure, and there was nothing down there," Sheriff Devins informed them.

"That's weird, though," commented Dean, leaning forward. "I mean, that's the third missing body this year."

"I know," Sheriff Devins said, troubled. "These are people from my town. These are people I care about."

"We understand," Hannah murmured sympathetically.

"Anyways..." sighed Sheriff Devins. "All this... it won't be a problem much longer."

"What do you mean?" Hannah asked, frowning.

"Well, the dam, of course," Sheriff Devins said, staring at them strangely. Hannah realized that this must have been known news in their town.

"Of course, the dam," Dean repeated, trying not to sound as confused as Hannah was. "It, uh, sprung a leak."

"It's falling apart," the sheriff said slowly. "And the feds won't give us the grant to repair it, so they've opened the spillway. In another six months, there won't be much of a lake. There won't be much of a town, either. But as Federal Wildlife, you already knew that."

"Exactly," Dean said, nodding his head.

A light tapping at the door interrupted them. Hannah twisted around in her seat to see a pretty woman with brown hair and eyes enter the office. _She's a goner_, Hannah thought, glancing at Dean who only seemed to _brighten _at the prospect of bedding some attractive girl.

"Sorry, am I interrupting?" she asked, apologetic. "I can come back later."

"Gentlemen—" Sheriff Devins casted a smile over at Hannah. "—and lady, this is my daughter."

Dean stood and shook her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Dean," he greeted.

"Andrea Barr." She smiled. "Hi."

"Hi." Dean smiled back.

"They're from Wildlife Service about the lake."

"Oh." Andrea's never-ending smile deflated. Just then, a little boy stepped out from behind her.

"Hey there. What's your name?" Dean asked the little boy. The little boy turned away before running out of the office. Andrea looked abashed before following him.

"His name is Lucas," Sheriff Devins answered dismally.

"Is he okay?" Sam inquired.

"My grandson's been through a lot. We all have," was all Sheriff Devins said. He stood and went over to the office door. "Well, if there's anything else I can do for you, please let me know."

"You know, now that you mentioned it, could you point us in the direction of a reasonably priced motel?" Dean said, his eyes trained on Andrea. Hannah crossed her arms and tried not to roll her blue eyes.

"Lakefront Motel," Andrea said instantly. "Go around the corner, it's about two blocks south."

"Two..." Dean frowned in mock confusion. "Would you mind showing us?"

Sam looked at Hannah, amused. Hannah on the other hand, was contemplating taping Dean's mouth shut. She'd probably have to tackle him, maybe she'd have Sam hold him down...

"You want me to walk you two blocks?" Andrea laughed, incredulous. "I'm headed that way anyway."

Hannah smiled sincerely when Andrea bent down to kiss the top of her son's head. "We'll go the park, okay, sweetie?"

The three followed Andrea out of the police station. Hannah touched Dean's elbow, making him look down at her. She smiled as she asked, "Can you be any less professional?"

"Can you be any less of a cockblock?" Dean fired back, smirking from Hannah's indignant gasp. He turned back to Andrea, walking alongside her. "So, cute kid."

"Thanks," Andrea replied shortly.

"Kids are the best, huh?" Hannah bit down on her lower lip to keep herself from laughing, while Sam had less luck. What was with Dean's pickup lines? They were so awful. Was he being lame on purpose?

Andrea said nothing as they crossed a street, stopping in front of the Lakefront Motel. "There it is," she announced, turning to face them. "Like I said, two blocks."

"Thanks," Sam said, smiling.

"Must be hard, with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line," Andrea quipped to Dean. She then addressed Hannah and Sam. "Enjoy your stay."

Hannah waved goodbye, impressed.

"'Kids are the best'?" Sam ridiculed, snickering.

"You don't even _like _kids!" Hannah exclaimed, her eyes wide at Dean's blatant lie.

"I love kids," Dean insisted.

"Name three children that you even know," Sam challenged.

Dean paused, struggling to come up with any names. He looked at Hannah then jutted his thumb out at her.

"Her," he said childishly. Hannah punched his arm.

"Right," scoffed Sam, waving a dismissive hand as he entered the motel.

"I'm thinking!" Dean called after him, scratching his head.

"I didn't know you did that," Hannah joked, smiling playfully. She squealed and dodged his fist, running inside the motel after Sam.

* * *

"So, there's the three drowning victims this year," Sam said, typing on his laptop.

Hannah was sprawled out on one of the queen beds, her head falling off the bed. Dean was rummaging through his clothes. She could feel the blood rushing to her face the longer she laid like this.

"Any before that?" Dean asked, distracted.

"Uh, yeah." Hannah sat up and rolled off the bed. She padded over to Sam peering over his shoulder at the article opened up on his laptop. "Six more spread out over the past thirty-five years. Those bodies were never recovered either. If there is something out there, it's picking up its pace."

"Do you think it's a lake monster?" Hannah offered, resting her chin on Sam's shoulder.

"This whole lake monster theory, it just bugs me," Sam admitted.

"Why?" asked Dean, coming over to them.

"Loch Ness, Lake Champion, there are literally hundreds of eyewitness accounts, but here, almost nothing," Sam explained, glancing at the both of them. "Whatever it is out there, no one's living to talk about it."

A name stood out in the comments section, and Hannah pointed at it. "Wait, Christopher Barr. Doesn't Andrea have the same last name?"

"Christopher Barr, the victim in May," Sam read. He clicked a link and there was a picture of a police officer with Lucas. "Oh. Christopher Barr was Andrea's husband, Lucas's father. Apparently he took Lucas out swimming. Lucas was on a floating wooden platform when Chris drowned two hours before the kid got rescued."

"Poor baby," Hannah murmured, frowning.

"Maybe we have an eyewitness after all," Sam said, scratching his head.

"No wonder that kid was so freaked out. Watching one of your parents die isn't something you just get over," Dean remarked.

Hannah's frown deepened. She supposed she was lucky enough not to witness her own mom die since she was only two months old when she had gotten possessed. Dean on the other hand couldn't forget seeing his mom burn.

_Why am I worrying over him? _There was nothing to worry about when concerning Dean. He was strong and fearless with a devil-may-care attitude. Dean could handle himself, but it didn't mean he had to do it alone.

"Princess," came Dean's teasing voice. Hannah blinked and realized she had been staring at him. "Take a picture if you'd like. It'll last longer."

Hannah rolled her eyes and flipped him off. To think she was even worried about him.

* * *

They found Andrea sitting on a bench at the park, watching Lucas draw on a different bench. Hannah gave Dean a pointed look, remembering the conversation they had on the walk to the park. Well, it was more one-sided than anything since Dean ignored had ignored her.

"Can we join you?" Sam asked the young mother.

"I'm here with my son," she responded, glancing at Lucas.

"Oh." Hannah exchanged hesitant glances with the boys.

"Mind if I say hi?" Dean looked over at Lucas then without waiting for an answer, strode over to the little boy.

"Tell your friend this whole _Jerry Maguire _thing is not gonna work on me," Andrea deadpanned.

Hannah laughed lightly as she sat down next to Sam who seated himself beside Andrea. "Don't worry, he won't try it," she assured the other woman.

"And I don't think that's what this is about," Sam added soberly.

_He's good with kids_, Hannah realized as she watched Dean talk to Lucas. She smiled, wondering what kind of drawing he was giving the kid. Dean lacked artistic talent, but Hannah couldn't really talk. She sucked at drawing, her sketches coming out wonky every time she attempted to draw. Sam was a much better artist out of the three of them.

Dean ambled back over to them, just as Andrea confessed that Lucas hadn't spoken since his dad's accident.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Hannah said, smiling sympathetically. Andrea returned it, though her smile was wan.

"What are the doctors saying?" Sam inquired.

"That it's a kind of post-traumatic stress," Andrea answered, emotion threatening to rise in her voice.

"That can't be easy," Hannah murmured. Andrea shrugged, turning her gaze to her son.

"We moved in with my dad. He helps out a lot. It's just..." she sighed heavily. "... when I think about what Lucas went through, what he saw..."

"Kid are strong. You'd be surprised what they can deal with," Dean reflected, his lips twitching into an engaging smile. Hannah looked up at him, wondering if he was talking about Lucas or himself.

"You know, he used to have such life. He was hard to keep up with, to tell you the truth," Andrea admitted, a mirthless smile crossing her features. "Now he just sits there. Drawing those pictures, playing with those army men. I just wish—" She paused, noticing Lucas approaching them. "Hey sweetie."

Hannah widened her eyes when Lucas handed Dean a drawing of a house. She turned to Sam who seemed just as surprised at the sudden gesture.

"Thanks," Dean said gently. "Thanks, Lucas."

Shortly after that, the three said goodbye to Andrea and headed back to the motel. Hannah was tired of diner food, so she offered to buy a couple boxes of pizza. Dean seemed reluctant to give her the keys to the Impala, but his growling stomach convinced him otherwise.

She found a pizza place nearby and was told to wait fifteen minutes. Attempting to kill the time, Hannah decided to check out the Carlton house. Her eyes widened when she noticed ambulance outside of the Carlton house. Parking the car, Hannah rushed out and went over to the crowd of neighbors watching as they brought a stretcher inside the house.

"What happened?" she asked no one in particular.

"Bill's son drowned," someone told her.

"How?" another person asked.

"He drowned in _the sink_. Can you believe it?"

Pulling out her Motorola RAZR, she flipped it open and called Sam.

"_Hannah, is something wrong_?" he asked.

"Yeah, Will Carlton is dead," Hannah revealed as she headed back to the Impala.

"_What_? _How__?"_

"I just drove by his house and there's ambulance there. He drowned in the sink."

"_... Did you just say the sink_?"

"I know, it's insane. You were right, Sam. This isn't some lake monster we're hunting."

"_Look, we'll talk more about it when you get back to the motel. Wait, aren't you going to get the pizza_?"

"Oh my God! I almost forgot about that!" Hannah exclaimed. She quickly said goodbye and snapped her phone shut.

Hannah was sure she broke several traffic laws on her drive back to the pizza place and the motel.

* * *

The next morning, they headed to the Carlton house to talk to the father.

Unfortunately, he refused to talk more about it so they left. Hannah played with her hamsa amulet as they returned to the Impala. She suddenly remembered the picture Lucas drew.

"What is it?" Dean asked after Hannah shook his arm.

"Look at the picture Lucas gave you," she said.

Dean fished for the picture and pulled it out from the pocket of his jacket. "Huh. Maybe Bill's not the only one who knows something."

They climbed inside the Impala and drove to Andrea's house. Hannah was unsure how Dean even acquired the address to her home, but she shrugged it off. This was the only time she'd allow Dean to use his charms.

"Oh." Andrea looked quite surprised to see the three of them standing on her doorstep. "Um, hi."

"Hello. Do you mind if we come inside?" Hannah said, smiling hopefully.

"Sure..." Andrea stepped aside to let them in.

"We need to talk to Lucas," Sam told her. _Just cutting to the chase, aren't we? _Hannah thought.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Andrea said, hesitant.

"I just need to talk to him. Just for a few minutes," Dean urged.

"He won't say anything. What good is that going to do?" she demanded.

"Andrea," Sam started slowly, "we think more people might get hurt. We think something's happening out there.

With those puppy dog eyes and the pleading tone in his voice, Hannah wondered how _anyone _could refuse him. Hannah certainly wouldn't. He was like one of those giant dogs who thought they were lap dogs.

"My husband, the others... they just drowned," she murmured, almost to herself. "That's all."

"If that's _really _what you believe, then we'll go," Hannah replied, staring at her. "But if you think there's even a _possibility_ that something else could be going on here, please let Dean talk to your son."

Andrea appraised them, her eyes falling on Dean last. Hannah could see it in his eyes that he was imploring Andrea to let him speak to her son.

She led them to Lucas's room, but Hannah and Sam waited outside while Dean approached Lucas alone. Hannah watched, suppressing a smile as Dean spoke quietly to the little boy.

"Thanks, Lucas," Dean said, rising to his feet.

"Thank you for letting us into your home," Hannah told Angela as she walked them out.

"No problem," Andrea said, nodding.

"Andrea said the kid never drew like that till his dad died," Dean commented on their way back to the Impala.

"There are cases—going through a traumatic experience could make people more sensitive to premonitions, psychic tendencies," Sam informed them. He shoved the passenger seat forward so Hannah could climb in the backseat.

"Whatever's out there, what if Lucas is tapping into it somehow? I mean, it's only a matter of time before somebody else drowns, so if you got a better lead, please," Dean said, turning the key in the ignition.

Hannah took the picture from Sam's hands and studied it. A yellow two-story house surrounded by a wooden fence. Could the white church be near the house?

"Do you guys see this church?" Hannah leaned forward, holding out the drawing. "I bet there's less than a thousand of those around here."

"Oh, Princess thinks she's _so _smart," joked Dean.

"Talk all you want, Jerry Maguire, but I just saved you from doing more work," Hannah retorted, earning a laugh from Sam. "But I'm surprised, Dean. You're _really _good with kids."

Dean rolled his eyes, ignoring her compliment. He turned up the volume on the radio instead. Hannah squeezed the back of his neck, making him jerk forward, before sitting back.

"Dean," Sam started, fiddling with his hands. "You know, um, what you said about Mom... you never told me that before."

"It's no big deal," Dean brushed off. He glanced at Sam who was staring at him. "Oh God, we're not going to have to hug or anything, are we?"

"I'll hug you, Sammy-Sam!" Hannah said sweetly.

Sam shot her an amused look before turning away to look out the window.

* * *

"It looks exactly like the picture," Hannah remarked, looking back and forth at the picture in Dean's hands and the yellow house besides the white church.

"It does," Sam agreed then gestured for them to follow. "Come on. Let's go."

Hannah adjusted her canary yellow cardigan as they crossed the street over to the house. She tossed her brown waves over her shoulder and waited for Dean to knock. When he didn't, Hannah cleared her throat loudly and gestured to the door. He smirked at her before knocking.

An elderly woman opened the door shortly afterwards, blinking in surprise at the sight of them. Stepping aside, she allowed them inside her home.

"We're sorry to bother you, ma'am, but does a little boy live here, by chance? He might wear a blue ball cap, has a red bicycle," Dean inquired.

"No, sir," she answered wearily. "Not for a very long time. Peter's been gone for thirty-five years now."

"I'm so sorry," Hannah said sympathetically. She noticed the older woman's eyes glisten after looking at a picture of her son. Hannah just wanted to hug her.

"The police never—_I_ never had any idea what happened," she continued, shaking her head. "He just disappeared."

Sam elbowed her, making her jump. He tilted his head in the direction of some toy soldiers on the table. Hannah realized that this woman must have expected her son to return after that fateful day.

"Losing him, you know, it's... it's worse than dying," the old woman lamented, grief etched on her face.

"Did he just disappear? From this house, I mean?" Dean questioned softly.

"He was supposed to ride his bike straight home after school, and he never showed up," she replied.

Hannah's eyes swept the entire house, her gaze landing on a particular picture on the mirror. She walked past Sam and Dean over to the mirror, plucking the picture off it. Two boys were photographed, one taller and bigger than the other. Flipping it over, she read the writing on the back aloud, "Peter Sweeney and Billy Carlton, 1970."

She put the picture back and smiled gently at the older woman. "Thank you. I think we have all we need."

They left and headed back to the Impala. Hannah fingered the hamsa amulet around her neck, her mind whirling with new information. Peter Sweeney and Bill Carlton were friends, then the former vanished and it becomes connected to Bill somehow. What if Peter's spirit haunted the lake? Then that wouldn't make sense unless Peter was a vengeful spirit, and those were only spirits of those who were killed.

"Do you think Bill Carlton killed Peter?" Hannah suddenly asked. "It would explain why everyone he loves has been punished."

"_And _it would explain how Peter vanished—Hannah, you're a genius," Sam added, grinning at her.

"Thanks." Hannah grinned back. "I can't have you boys running around without a clue what's going on."

Dean scoffed. "You forgot humble, Sammy," he said, then lifted his arm to block Hannah's incoming slap. "And also violent. I never took you for the type to try and crash out car, Princess. Oh wait, you are, because you crashed my Baby into a fucking house."

"You..." Hannah struggled for an insult. "Just shut up."

He and Sam laughed. Hannah pouted and leaned back in the seat. The silence didn't last long as they pulled up in front of the Carlton home quickly.

"Mr. Carlton?" Sam called as they walked onto the property.

Hannah froze when she heard the sound of an engine. "Do you hear that?" she asked them.

Without a second thought, Hannah and the boys ran around the house over to the lake. She widened her eyes, gasping when she saw Bill Carlton driving his boat into the lake. Dean and Sam started to shout, but Hannah only felt instinct take over. She shrugged off her cardigan and was about to unbuckle her ankle boots, but stopped at the sight of the boat flipping over in the lake, disappearing. Hannah stood still, her scream stuck in her throat. Her heart hammered inside her chest, and she could feel her hands tremble.

Someone just _died_ in front of her and she… Hannah couldn't stop it.

"Han," she heard Sam say. "Say something."

"What?" Hannah asked, snapping out of her shock. She noticed that she was sitting on the hood of the Impala instead of standing on the dock.

"You've been catatonic for the past eight minutes," he explained, frowning. "I hope you know that this isn't your fault. There was nothing you could do to stop him."

Hannah crossed her arms and nodded absently. She noticed Dean talking to Sheriff Devins. Dean glanced over at her and Sam. He locked eyes with her, a twinge of sympathy flickering in those green orbs before returning his attention to Sheriff Devins. She sat up straighter when Dean walked back to them.

"Sheriff wants to talk to us in his office," he told them. He tilted his head at Hannah. "You feeling better?"

"Does this usually happen? When you hunt, I mean?" Hannah asked quietly, looking up at him. Dean hesitated, looking over at Sam for a moment before returning her gaze.

"We can't save everybody, Hannah," he finally said. "Chin up, Princess. It gets easier."

"How?"

"You get used to it."

His words chilled her.

* * *

"Sam, Hannah, Dean. I didn't expect to see you here." Andrea stood when they neared Sheriff Devins' office.

"So, now you're on first name basis," Sheriff Devins observed. He turned to his daughter. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought you dinner," Andrea answered, motioning to the bag sitting on her chair.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I don't really the time," her father replied, frowning.

Hannah noticed Lucas sitting in a chair, hugging his knees while rocking back and forth. He looked frightened, like _he _had been the one to witness Bill Carlton die in the lake. She reached for Sam's wrist, squeezing it lightly. Sam looked down at her questioningly but his eyes went to Lucas, realizing what she meant. He elbowed Dean who opened his mouth to snap at him, but stopped when Lucas hopped out of the chair and grabbed Dean's arm.

"Lucas, hey, what is it?" he asked gently.

"Lucas?" Andrea watched along with Hannah and Sam as Dean tried to comfort the little boy. She took Lucas from Dean and led him away.

Sheriff Devins tossed his jacket onto an empty chair and continued to his office. Hannah and the boys followed.

"Okay, just so I'm clear, you see... something attack Bill's boat, sending Bill—who is a very good swimmer, by the way—into the drink, and you never see him again?" Sheriff Devins questioned incredulously.

"Yeah, that about sums it up," Dean responded somberly.

Sheriff Devins looked at the three of them, his expression skeptic. "And I'm supposed to believe this, even though I've already sonar-swept that entire lake? And what you're describing is impossible? And you're not really Wildlife Service?"

Hannah stiffened, both alarmed and unsurprised that they had been found out.

"That's right, I checked. Department's never heard of you three," the sheriff continued.

An image of herself dressed in an orange jumpsuit flashed in her mind, carrying shoes and a blanket on her way to her cell while other prisoners catcalled her. _Oh God, I'm going to become someone's bitch_, Hannah thought nervously.

"See, now, we can explain..." Dean tried.

"Enough, please," interrupted Sheriff Devins, scoffing. "The only reason you're breathing free air is one of Bill's neighbors saw him steering out that boat just before you did. So, we have a couple of options here. I can arrest you for impersonating government officials and hold you as material witnesses to Bill Carlton's disappearance. Or, we can chalk this all up to a bad day, you get into your car, you put this town in your rearview mirror, and you don't ever darken my doorstep again."

A beat passed before Hannah forced out a response. "Door number two sounds good."

"That's the one I'd pick."

Hannah was the first one out the door. She wouldn't go to prison, Dean and Sam wouldn't go to prison either. For a moment, she was relieved, but then she sharply remembered that they hadn't dealt with this vengeful spirit. Was it truly rested? Would they have to search the lake for Peter Sweeney's remains in order to salt-and-burn it?

She wanted to ask Dean all these questions, but he seemed to be brooding so she decided not to bother him. Sam didn't seem to have any idea either. It wasn't until they finished packing their things from the motel and were driving out of town in the Impala did Hannah decide to speak up.

"We're really going to leave, aren't we?" she asked, leaning forward.

"The case is closed, Han. Peter's spirit should be at rest now that Bill's dead," Sam replied then motioned for Dean to drive. "Light's green."

Dean turned right instead much to their confusion.

"Uh, the interstate's the _other _way," Sam stated, as if Dean had forgotten.

"I know," Dean said.

"Dean, this job, I think it's over," Sam said, creasing his brows.

"I'm not so sure," the older hunter murmured.

"If Bill murdered Peter Sweeney and Peter's spirit got its revenge, case closed. The spirit should be at rest," Sam insisted.

"Alright, so what if we take off and this thing isn't done? You know, what if we've missed something? What if more people get hurt?" Dean questioned, a challenging tone in his voice.

"But why would you think that?"

"Because Lucas was really scared, and I just don't want to leave this town until I know the kid's okay."

Hannah closed her mouth when she realized her jaw had fallen slack. She could see the stunned look on Sam's face.

"Who are you? And what have you done with my brother?" Sam finally said, astounded by Dean's words.

Dean glanced at him and Hannah. "Shut up," he grumbled.

* * *

Hannah knew something was wrong when Lucas opened the front door with the most terrified expression she had ever seen on a child.

The boys hurried upstairs to where Lucas led them. Hannah instead went to the kitchen and searched for some salt. She found it in one of the cabinets and ran upstairs to where the noise was heard. Sam was struggling to pull Andrea out of the bathtub. Hannah opened the salt and poured it in the water. She jumped when she heard a hiss, but didn't dwell on it when Sam finally pulled Andrea all the way out of the tub.

"Here." Hannah handed Andrea a robe.

"Thank you," Andrea said between coughs.

"Hey." Hannah turned around and was a little surprised to see Dean holding Lucas. "Good thinking with the... you know, salt."

She smiled, shrugging. "I was taught by the best," she replied, thinking of her dad.

Bobby Singer was indisputably the best hunter in the community, and maybe she was just being biased because he was her dad, but who else could say that their father was the go-to hunter for everything supernatural?

No one, that's who.

* * *

Hannah realized that out of the three hunters, she was the most qualified to go in the lake if it came down to it. She was a varsity swimmer, leading her high school swim team to the championships thrice.

As Andrea changed and Dean tried speaking to Lucas, Hannah went outside to the Impala and opened the trunk. She grabbed her duffel bag, shut the trunk, and returned to Andrea's house. Hannah ignored the questioning look Sam and Dean shot her as she trudged upstairs to the bathroom. Stripping out of her clothes and underwear, Hannah slipped on a black one-piece before changing into a sundress. It would be easier to take off than jeans and a shirt.

Andrea was sitting on the couch. Her face was ashen, and her hands trembled. Hannah sat down next to her, putting a comforting arm around her. She noticed Dean and Sam rifling through the bookshelves, most likely searching for a reason why Peter's spirit tried to drown Andrea.

"It doesn't make any sense," Andrea cried, burying her face in her hands. "I'm going crazy."

"No, you're not," Hannah assured her. She rubbed Andrea's back. "Tell me what happened. Everything."

"I heard... I thought I heard... there was this voice," Andrea stammered, sniffling.

"What did it say?" Hannah urged her to continue.

"It said... it said 'come play with me'," Andrea answered then started to sob. "What's _happening_?"

Hannah chewed her lower lip, unable to explain what she and the boys were hunting without freaking her out even more. Instead, Hannah wrapped held her as she sobbed. She looked up to see Dean and Sam approach them, the former putting a scrapbook in front of Andrea.

"Do you recognize the kids in these pictures?" Dean asked Andrea.

"What? Um, no," she sputtered out. "I mean, except that's my dad right there. He must have been about twelve in these pictures."

Andrea pointed at a twelve year old boy standing besides Peter. Hannah widened her eyes, realizing what she suspected all along.

"Chris Barr's drowning," Sam said. "The connection wasn't to Bill Carlton. It must have been to the sheriff."

"Bill _and_ the sheriff—they were both involved with Peter," Hannah breathed, locking eyes with Sam.

"What about Chris?" Andrea was nonplussed. "My dad—what are you talking about?"

Dean turned away from Andrea. Hannah followed his gaze and saw Lucas standing by the window. She swallowed thickly, her heart beat quickening. Lucas's muteness was already unsettling, but he seemed to have a connection with Peter. Did Lucas know who Peter's next victim would be?

"Lucas?" Dean said. Lucas continued staring out the window. "Lucas, what is it?"

"Lucas, honey?" Andrea called, getting up to follow him when he opened the front door. Hannah and the boys went after them.

Lucas stopped after a while, staring at the ground. Dean nodded at him then told Andrea to take Lucas back inside and stay there. Sam found shovels in a shed after Andrea opened it for them. Hannah stood aside, watching them dig.

"You could help, you know," Sam told her, scowling.

"Do you _really_ need three people to dig something out of the ground?" Hannah questioned. "Be logical, Sam."

"You're just lazy," retorted Dean without looking up from the ground.

Hannah was about to respond, but a loud clank interrupted their squabble. Hannah watched as Dean and Sam pulled out a red bicycle with their hands. Pushing herself off the ground, Hannah went over to them and inspected the bike.

"Peter's bike," Sam said aloud.

The sound of a gun cocking made them freeze. Hannah forced herself to turn around, only to see Sheriff Devins pointing a gun at them. Dean's arm went over her stomach, pushing her back behind him.

"Who are you?" barked Sheriff Devins.

"Put the gun down, Jake," reasoned Sam, dropping the shovel.

"How did you know that was there?" Sheriff Devins demanded.

"What happened? You and Bill killed Peter, drowned him in the lake and then buried the bike?" The tone in Dean's voice edged on cocksure, as if he didn't have a gun pointed at him. "You can't bury the truth, Jake. Nothing stays buried."

_Did he just make a __pun__?_

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," the sheriff said, but he couldn't fool them and he knew that.

"You and Bill killed Peter Sweeney thirty-five years ago. That's what the hell I'm talking about," Dean proclaimed confidently. "And now you got one seriously pissed-off spirit."

"It's gonna take Andrea, Lucas, everyone you love. It's gonna drown them. And it's gonna drag their bodies God knows where, so you can feel the same pain Peter's mom felt. And then, after that, it's gonna take you, and it's not going to stop until it does," Sam told him.

"Yeah?" Sheriff Devins' hand shook around his pistol. "How do you know that?"

"Because that's exactly what it did to Bill Carlton!" Hannah exclaimed from behind Dean. "Stop being stubborn and let us help you!"

"Listen to yourselves, the three of you. You're insane."

"I don't really give a rat's ass what you think of us," snapped Dean, done trying to convince Sheriff Devins. "But if we're going to bring down this spirit, we need to find the remains, salt them, and burn them into dust. Now tell me you buried Peter somewhere. Tell me you didn't just let him go in the lake."

"Dad, is this true?" Andrea asked, horror coloring her voice.

"No. Don't listen to them," her father said. "They're liars and they're dangerous."

"Something tried to drown me. Chris _died_ on that lake," Andrea recounted, wretched. "Dad, _look at me_." Sheriff Devins finally tore his gaze away from Hannah and he boys. "Tell me you... you didn't _kill_ anyone."

His silence was the only answer they needed.

"Billy and I were at the lake. Peter was the smallest one. We always bullied him, but this time, it got rough. We were holding his head under the water. We didn't mean to. But we held him under too long and he drowned. We let the body go, and it sank."

Hannah felt her mouth go dry. She remembered being bullied all throughout her childhood and teenage years, but the taunts never went so far that they tried to _kill _her.

"Oh, Andrea, we were kids. We were so scared. It was a mistake, but, Andrea, to say that I have anything to do with these drownings, with Chris, because of some ghost? It's not rational," Sheriff Devins continued, shaking his head. Hannah wanted to slap him, shocked that he was still in denial over this.

"Alright," Dean spoke up, "Listen to me, all of you. We need to get you away from this lake, as far as we can, right now."

"Lucas!" Hannah suddenly shouted after seeing the little boy headed towards the lake. She unbuckled her ankle boots and ran towards the lake, not waiting for the others.

Hannah pulled her dress over her head and dived into the lake. The voices above her sounded distant, but she kept searching for Lucas. Her eyes widened when she spotted him, his body limp. Hannah kicked her legs forward and wrapped her arms around him then swam over to the dock. Dean took Lucas from her and put him on the dock. Andrea immediately tried waking him up and after a minute, Lucas started to cough up water.

"What happened?" Hannah asked him, noticing that Jake Devins was gone.

"He sacrificed himself," Dean answered, glancing back at Lucas. He reached out to help her. If the circumstances were different, Hannah would have stayed for a swim, but she took Dean's hand. "That was… kind of awesome, Hannah."

She could have smiled, but Andrea's sobbing stopped her. Sam climbed out a moment later and bent down near Andrea, murmuring something in her ear that made her cry harder. Hannah remembered what Dean had told her earlier. They couldn't save everyone.

* * *

"Sam, Hannah, Dean," called a familiar voice.

Hannah looked up from her phone and smiled when she saw that it was Andrea and Lucas. He was carrying a tray of sandwiches.

"Hey," Dean greeted, slamming the trunk shut.

"We're glad we caught you. We just, um, we made you lunch for the road," Andrea explained.

"Can I give it to them now?" Lucas asked, tilting his head up at his mom.

"Of course." Andrea smiled. She kissed the top of his head and watched him bound over to the Impala with Dean.

"How are you holding up?" Sam asked her softly.

"It's just gonna take a long time to sort through everything, you know?" Andrea replied, candid.

Hannah chewed her lower lip while Sam sighed, both feeling an equal amount of guilt.

"Andrea, I'm sorry," Hannah blurted out.

Andrea shook her head. "You saved my son. I can't ask for more than that," she said then smiled weakly. "Dad loved me. He loved Lucas. No matter what he did, I just have to hold on to that."

Hannah and Sam walked back to the Impala while Lucas went over to Andrea's side. Dean glanced at Hannah then at Andrea. Hannah smiled and gave a subtle nod, letting him know that he could do whatever he needed to do. She tilted her head upwards, preferring to look up at the clouds as Andrea and Dean kissed. Hannah heard Sam laugh beside her.

She looked back down when Sam nudged her. Dean was already sliding inside the driver's seat. Pushing the passenger seat forward, Hannah climbed in the backseat, careful not to accidentally sit on the sandwiches Dean and Lucas placed back there.

They waved goodbye to Andrea and Lucas as they drove away. Hannah was settling in the backseat and about to open one of her books when she felt the car slow down.

"What happened?" she asked, confused.

"You said you wanted to go to the movies," Sam reminded, looking at her. "You _do _remember saying you wanted to see _Harry Potter_, right?"

Hannah blinked then felt a smile spread across her face. She leapt forward and pulled both Sam and Dean into a hug. Sam laughed and Dean shook his head, smiling as Hannah practically bounced inside the movie theater.


	4. Phantom Traveler

**A/N: **Thank you _Selina_ and some guests for reviewing. Enjoy the chapter!

**4.**

**Phantom Traveler**

Hannah flinched awake when she heard the door to their motel room slam shut. Sam's voice rang harshly in her ears, sounding too cheerful this morning.

"What time is it?" she heard Dean ask groggily.

"About five forty-five," answered Sam.

She groaned and rolled over onto her stomach, rubbing her face into her pillow. Hannah didn't want to get up, not at five forty-five _in the morning_, but she managed to pull herself out of bed.

"Where does the day go?" Dean groaned, sitting up. "You okay there?"

"Huh?" Hannah tried to blink the sleep out of her eyes, but to no avail. She collapsed on Dean's bed, groaning.

"Well, that was... dramatic," quipped Dean. When Hannah opened her eyes again, Dean was looming over her face. He smiled lazily before moving back as Hannah slowly sat up, propping herself up with her elbows. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Yeah, I grabbed a couple hours," Sam replied, not looking in their direction.

"Bullshit," Dean instantly said. "Cause I was up at three, and you were watching a George Foreman infomercial."

"What were you doing at three in the morning?" Hannah inquired, curious.

"That's not important." Dean averted his eyes from her, and that only made Hannah more curious.

"Hey, what can I say? It's riveting TV," Sam said.

"When was the last time you got a good night's sleep, Sam?" Hannah asked, looking up with concerned eyes.

"I don't know, a little while, I guess," he faltered, the false smile vanishing from his face. "It's not a big deal."

"Yes, it is," Hannah insisted, her voice doused with worry. "Do you know what happens to someone who's deprived of sleep, Sam?"

"Look, I appreciate your concern—" Sam started.

"Oh, I'm not concerned about you," interrupted Dean offhandedly. "It's your job to keep my ass alive, so I need you sharp."

"What's my job?" Hannah yawned.

Dean rolled his eyes at her while Sam chuckled. "Your job, Princess, is to keep _Sam's _ass alive and to stay sharp, so keep reading those boring books of yours."

"Oh." Hannah nodded, then frowned when Dean's words sunk in. "Hey, my books are not boring."

"Seriously, are you still having nightmares about Jess?" Dean asked, ignoring Hannah.

Sam hesitated then crossed over to sit beside Hannah on the bed. She and Dean peered at him, waiting patiently for his response. He handed Dean a cup of coffee and Hannah a cinnamon roll covered in icing.

"Yeah," he finally said. "But it's not just her. It's everything. I just forgot, you know? This job. Man, it gets to you."

"You can't let it. You can't bring it home like that," Dean told him. Hannah nodded in agreement, taking a small bite out of her cinnamon roll.

"So, what? All this—" Sam gestured around him. "—it never keeps you up at night?"

Dean shook his head.

"Never?" Sam stared at him in disbelief. "You're _never _afraid?"

"No, not really."

"Hannah?"

"Hm?" Hannah looked up from her cinnamon roll, licked the icing off her lips.

"Are you ever afraid?" Sam repeated, his green eyes searching hers.

"Sometimes," she admitted softly. "But you can't live life in fear of everything."

"Oh yeah?" Sam reached over and grabbed something from under Dean's pillow. He held up a large hunting knife.

"That's not fear. That's precaution," Dean responded then took the knife from him. "And Hannah kept a freaking machete under her pillow at _five _years old."

"Alright, whatever. I'm too tired to argue," Sam relented.

Hannah regarded him, wondering if she should talk to him about this later or maybe even just between the two of them. She was worried about Sam, and was unsure of how to help him. Could you help someone who didn't want to be helped?

Dean's phone ringing interrupted her thoughts. She continued eating her cinnamon roll, half listening to whatever Dean was saying.

"This guy, Jerry Panowski up in Pennsylvania, wants to talk about something worse than a poltergeist in person," Dean explained, getting up from his bed.

"Another eight hours of listening to AC/DC," Hannah sighed, getting up as well. Sam chuckled and began packing his things.

* * *

"Thanks for making the trip so quick," said Jerry, after greeting them in front of the aircraft warehouse. "I ought to be doing you guys a favor, not the other way around. Dean and your dad really helped me out."

"Yeah, he told us," replied Sam. For the whole trip, Dean had informed him and Hannah about the poltergeist case a few years ago. "A poltergeist?"

"_Poltergeist_?" echoed a worker from afar. "Man, I love that movie."

"Hey, nobody's talking to you. Keep working," Jerry upbraided then turned back to Dean. "Damn right it was a poltergeist, practically tore our house apart. Tell you something, if it wasn't for you and your dad, I probably wouldn't be alive. Your dad said you were off at college. Is that right?"

He addressed the last part to Sam who seemed surprised. "Yeah, I was," Sam eventually said, "I'm taking some time off."

"Well, he was real proud of you. I could tell. He talked about you all the time," Jerry lauded.

_He did? _Hannah thought, exchanging a surprised look with Sam.

She remembered each time the Winchesters came over, Sam would be brooding over whatever fight he just had with his father. Sometimes, Sam would vent to Hannah about how unfair his father was and that he favored Dean over him. Hannah hoped John didn't favor one son over the other because that was cruel.

When Sam voiced Hannah's thought, Jerry grinned and said, "Yeah, you bet he did. Oh, hey, you know I tried to get a hold of him, but I couldn't. How's he doing, anyway?"

Dean and Sam shifted uncomfortably while Hannah played with her hamsa amulet. The older Winchester was ultimately the one to answer Jerry.

"He's, um, wrapped up in a job right now," Dean fibbed. Actually, John _was _wrapped up in a job right now, but that one was hunting whatever killed Dean and Sam's mom.

Jerry didn't seem notice how tense everyone was. "Well, we're missing the old man, but we get Sam and..." He gave Hannah a once over. "This beautiful lady. Hannah was it? Which one of you is the lucky guy?"

"What?" Hannah flushed red.

"Oh, none of us are dating her," Sam explained, sounding awkward. "She's a family friend."

Hannah and Dean nodded in agreement, both too embarrassed by the question. She couldn't imagine dating Sam. The mere thought of kissing him was… Hannah shuddered. It would be incest. Dean was a whole different matter. He could be a jerk sometimes, but they were friends and he was funny and handsome and—

He didn't like her. Hannah didn't like him either. She shouldn't like anyone, anyway. Not after Warren.

"Well, their loss right?" Jerry smiled at Hannah, then gestured for them to follow him. "I got something I want you guys to hear."

"_Your loss_," Hannah mouthed to Dean with a smile. He rolled his eyes and shook his head at her. They ended up in Jerry's office where they gathered around a CD player.

"I listened to this. And, well, it sounded like it was up your alley," Jerry told them as he placed a disk into the CD player. "Normally I wouldn't have access to this. It's the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia flight 2485. It was one of ours."

Leaning in close, Hannah listened to the recording. "_Mayday! Mayday!_" exclaimed a frightened voice, but it was difficult to hear through the static. "_Repeat! This is United Britannia 2485, immediate instruction help!_" There was a pause then a monstrous growl. The recording stopped, and Hannah sat up, glancing at the boys.

It didn't sound like a ghost. Hannah had dealt with two ghosts and none of them sounded this inhuman, but what else could haunt a plane?

"Took off from here, crashed about two hundred miles south. Now, they're saying mechanical failure, cabin depressurized somehow. Nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board and only seven got out alive. The pilot's name is Chuck Lambert. He's a good friend of mine. Chuck is, uh... well, he's pretty broken up about it. Like it was his fault."

"And you don't think it was?" Hannah questioned.

"No, I don't," Jerry answered, earnest.

"Jerry, we're going to need to passenger manifests, and a list of survivors," Sam said.

"Can we take a look at the wreckage?" Dean added.

"The other stuff is no problem, but..." Jerry hesitated. Hannah felt her lips tug downwards at the pause. "The wreckage, the NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse. No way I've got that kind of clearance."

Dean glanced at Hannah and Sam, an impish glint in his eyes, then flashed a smile. "No problem," he said. "We'll let you know when we figure out more things, Jerry."

Jerry nodded and walked them out of the warehouse. Hannah gave Dean a questioning look when he draped his arm over her shoulders. With a grin, he asked her, "How do you feel about Homeland Security?"

* * *

"This is pretty illegal, even for us," Sam muttered to Hannah who was sprawled in the backseat. They had been researching the flight while Dean had acquired their false IDs.

"I know, but Dean is pretty adamant about this," Hannah replied then squinted her eyes at the print of the magazine she was reading. "Did you know that Heath Ledger is going to be a gay cowboy?"

"What?" Sam asked, turning around to look at her.

"Yeah, some movie called _Brokeback Mountain_ is coming out in December and he's a gay cowboy."

"Uh..."

Their conversation was interrupted when Dean slid into the driver's seat. He handed them their IDs. "Alright, so what do you guys got?" Dean asked.

"Well, there's _definitely _an EVP on the cockpit voice recorder," Hannah said, sitting up.

"Listen." Sam pressed play on the tape, and she and Dean leaned towards him to hear it.

The familiar static sound surrounded the Impala, then something nightmarish hissed, "_No survivors_."

"'No survivors'?" Dean repeated, his eyebrows furrowed as he leaned back in his seat. "What's that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors."

"Got me." Sam shrugged.

"So... what? A haunted flight?" Dean questioned.

"I mean, there's a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships, like flight 401. Remember that?" Hannah said.

"Right. The one that crashed, the airline salvaged some of its parts, put it in other planes, then the spirit of the pilot and copilot haunted those flights," Dean remembered.

"Maybe we have a similar deal," Sam suggested.

"_Or _it could be like _Final Destination_ and Death is stalking the survivors!" Hannah suddenly proposed.

Dean and Sam stared at her with blank expressions on their faces.

"I don't think it's that, Han," Sam told her gently. "Anyway, we need to talk to the third survivor on the list. Max Jaffey."

"Why him?" Dean asked him.

"Well, for one, he's from around here, and two, if anyone saw anything weird, he did," Sam said matter-of-factly.

"What makes you say that?" Dean challenged. Hannah held up the list and showed him Max Jaffey's address. "Oh. Well, whatever. Let's just get this done."

* * *

"Guys got any ideas as to what the hell we're dealing with?" Dean asked, after they stepped out of the Riverfront Psychiatric Hospital. Max Jaffey mentioned hearing voices and seeing black eyes on a passenger.

"Well, we know it can take human shape, has enhanced strength, and black eyes," Hannah noted then paused. "You guys don't own suits, do you?" She frowned when Sam and Dean shook their heads. "Okay, well, you guys talk to the next person on the list while I get you guys some suits from a rental shop."

"Why?" Dean whined.

"Because if we're going to be Homeland Security, we have to _look _the part," Hannah told him. "Duh."

Dean glared at her, but Sam seemed to agree with Hannah.

"And besides, you'd probably both look like the Blues Brothers if you got to choose your own suits," Hannah teased, giggling from the dark looks she received from both Winchesters. "I'm kidding! Jeez."

They dropped her off at the nearest rental shop while they went to go speak to George Phelps' wife. Hannah raised an eyebrow at the shop: Mort's For Style. She would have preferred Men's Wearhouse, but she wasn't exactly Paris Hilton at the moment.

Hannah browsed the less-than-impressive selection of suits until she found acceptable ones. One was a woolen charcoal gray while the other was navy blue. She told the person at the register that she'd pay once Sam and Dean returned to get fitted.

In the meantime, Hannah played on her Motorola RAZR until the boys finally showed up thirty minutes later. Her phone almost slipped out of her hand when she caught sight of Dean in a suit. It was strange seeing him dressed in his leather jacket and flannel. He looked good. _More _than good. Dean was ridiculously handsome. It only made it more difficult to see him as a friend.

"You guys look good," Hannah remarked, hoping neither noticed her lingering stare. "I'm going to change."

"And why didn't you just change here while you waited for us?" Sam questioned.

She blinked, then scowled. "Not everyone is as logical as _you_, Sam."

Sam laughed.

* * *

Dressed in a long-sleeved white blouse tucked into some black slacks, and black stilettos, Hannah felt like she worked as an executive for some office job. She felt so professional, and when she said so, Sam had to ruin it by reminding her that they weren't actually Homeland Security.

The security at the warehouse didn't even bat an eye when they showed them their badges. Hannah scanned the warehouse, her eyes falling on the plane wreckage. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Dean pull out a walkman.

"What is that?" Sam asked, curious.

"It's an EMF meter. Reads electromagnetic frequencies," Dean answered, staring at Sam oddly.

"Yeah, I _know_ what an EMF meter is, but why does that one look like a busted up walkman?" Sam said.

"Cause that's what I made it out of. It's homemade," Dean replied with a grin.

"Seriously?" Hannah pried the walkman from his hands and inspected it. "That's actually really impressive, Dean."

"Really?" Dean sounded surprised at her enthusiasm.

Hannah nodded, her eyes wide. "Really impressive. Not everyone can make an EMF out of a walkman," she said, flashing him a smile. "You should show me how you did it."

She handed it back to him and saw that Dean's grin broadened. They continued walking among the plane wreckage, Hannah watching Dean who ran the EMF over the wreckage. Sam paused and gestured to the emergency door handle with dust coated on it. The EMF spiked loudly when Dean ran it over the dust.

"What is this stuff?" Dean asked no one in particular.

"Gross," Hannah uttered after swiping some off her index finger and sniffing it.

"Only way to find out," Sam said, pulling out a knife. He scraped some of the dust off with it.

The three froze when they heard footsteps bustling from the corner. Dread spread throughout her and Hannah wondered if this was the day she would go to prison. _I never thought going to prison would be a constant fear of mine_, Hannah thought.

Sam took her wrist and led her to the exit where the three of them couldn't be seen by security. Hannah held her breath as she listened to the sound of guns cocking. After a minute, she and the boys peered around the corner to see if all of them were gone.

As casually as she could, Hannah walked between Sam and Dean with an air of nonchalance. That disappeared as soon as the alarms inside the warehouse started blaring loudly.

They ran towards the gated exit, Hannah nearly tripping in her stilettos. She made a mental note that next time they posed as feds, she wouldn't wear such skinny heels. The color drained from her face at the sight of the barbed wire on the gate.

Dean pulled off his jacket and tossed it so it covered the barbed wire. He climbed first over the gate then Sam went. Hannah chewed her lower lip, afraid that she'd hurt herself with the barbed wire, but willed herself to climb after tossing her stilettos to Sam.

"Well, these monkey suits _do_ come in handy," Dean commented, grinning at them.

Hannah suppressed her laughter as she ran back to the Impala bare-foot.

* * *

"Huh. This stuff is covered in sulfur," Jerry said, leaning back from the microscope.

"You're sure?" Sam asked.

"Take a look for yourself." Jerry shrugged, moving aside to let Sam inspect the dust they brought back.

Hannah and Dean exchanged an amused glance from the loud banging coming from outside, followed by someone cursing. Jerry sighed and excused himself to deal with it, saying he had an "idiot" to fire.

"You know, there's not too many things that leave behind a sulfuric residue," Dean said as he made his way over to the microscope.

"Demonic possession?" Sam supplied.

"I think so," Hannah murmured, squinting her eyes at the dust. "It would explain everything Max Jaffey told us so far."

"If the guy was possessed, it's possible," Sam agreed, crossing his arms.

"But this goes way beyond floating over a bed or barfing pea soup. I mean it's one thing to possess a person, but to use them to take down an entire airplane?" Dean pointed out.

Hannah looked up at him. "Demons _are _hateful. Maybe this particular demon has it out for airplanes," she suggested.

"That's stupid," Dean scoffed.

"You're stupid," Hannah retorted.

"Guys, _both _of you are acting stupid," Sam cut in before another insult could be thrown in. "Dean, have you ever heard of something like this?"

"Never," Dean replied. "Alright, well, looks like we're spending our night researching. How fun."

"I can't wait," Hannah said, smiling genuinely.

"I was being sarcastic," Dean told her.

"Oh." Hannah felt heat rush to her face. "Shut up."

Dean snorted at her lame comeback and led them back to the Impala. Hannah suggested they get take-out from a nearby Thai restaurant, yearning for something different than their everyday burgers and fries. Sam agreed wholeheartedly and offered to get it while Hannah and Dean started on the research.

Sam dropped them off at the library for books on demonic possession. Hannah suppressed a smile from the frown on Dean's face. She knew he hated researching the old fashioned way. Hannah on the other hand, _loved _going to the library.

"Okay, we need to find books on demonic possessions from different religions," Hannah told Dean. "I say we get books from Christian, Hindu, Muslim, and Japanese beliefs. Do you want to find a specific book or should we find them together?"

There was a dazed look on Dean's face. He blinked his eyes repeatedly then mumbled something.

"What?" Hannah frowned, unable to understand him.

"Let's just find the books together, alright?" Dean grumbled, shoving his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

Hannah beamed and cheerfully searched the library for the various books they needed while Dean trailed behind her. It didn't take long since Hannah figured out quickly where the books were kept.

"Do we _really _need all these books?" Dean complained, carrying most of the books in his arms.

"We need to be thorough," Hannah replied, then reached for another book. "Are you not this thorough during other hunts?"

"No, but we've been fine so far," Dean retorted, rolling his eyes. "Did you forget that we have Sam's computer?"

"No," Hannah chirped. "I think we have enough books."

"Finally," he sighed, adjusting the books in his arms.

They returned to the motel when Sam picked them up from the library. Hannah spread out the books on the edge of her and Sam's bed and put a few on Dean's bed before grabbing her take-out box of Thai food.

Hours passed as they researched in silence. Sam would sketch different symbols and post them on the wall along with the articles of airplane crashes they printed from the library before going back to his laptop. Dean read with surprising focus and Hannah wanted to say something, but refrained from doing so, knowing that Dean would take her compliment the wrong way.

Their concentration did not last long, though. Dean was sitting on the edge of his bed while leaning over to read one of the books on Hannah's. He would, at the most random times, poke her. When she would look up, he would refuse to meet her eye and pretend he never poked her. It was so childish, but Hannah didn't feel like getting into another petty fight with Dean, so she allowed this twenty-six year old man to poke her.

"So," Sam said, breaking the silence. "Every religion in every world culture has the concept of demons and demonic possession, right? I mean Christian, Native American, Hindu, you name it."

"Yeah, but none of them describe anything like this," Dean remarked.

"Well, that's not exactly true," Sam said, rubbing his jaw. "You see, according to Japanese beliefs, certain demons are behind certain disasters, both natural and man-made. One causes earthquakes, another causes disease..."

"And this one causes plane crashes," Hannah finished, smiling at Sam. He smiled back.

"Alright, so... what? We have a demon that's evolved with the times and found a way to ratchet up the body count?" Dean questioned as he stood up from the bed.

"Yeah." Sam nodded then frowned. "You know, who knows how many planes it's brought down before this one?"

There was a look of disbelief on Dean's face as he shook his head, turning away.

"What?" Hannah asked him.

"I don't know. This isn't our normal gig," Dean answered, looking back at her and Sam.

"And what qualifies as 'normal' for you, Dean?" Hannah inquired, interested.

"You know, ghosts, ghouls, all that other crap. Not demons that take down planes," he explained. "I mean, demons, they don't want anything, just death and destruction for its own sake. This is big." He looked down at his feet, and said quietly, "I wish Dad was here."

Hannah's heart ached from the absolute pain in his voice. She knew that while Dean liked to joke around and act carefree most of the time, he was silently unhappy over their lack of clues on finding John Winchester.

Sam seemed to understand as well, nodding his head a little. "Yeah, me too," he murmured.

There was a brief moment of uncomfortable silence, but the sound of Dean's phone changed the atmosphere once more. Hannah was relieved, hating to see Dean and Sam so upset.

"Another crash?" Sam questioned when Dean finished his call with Jerry.

"Yeah. Let's go." Dean was already headed out the door.

"Where?" Hannah asked.

"Nazareth," he replied without looking at her.

* * *

Hannah gasped when she saw the black smoke in the distance as they neared the crime scene. She tried not to appear too startled as she and the boys entered the scene, showing security their badges briefly before checking out the crashed plane.

Collecting some evidence, they headed to the warehouse so they could meet up with Jerry.

"Sulfur?" Dean asked when Jerry finished studying the substance in the microscope. Jerry nodded and Dean scowled. "Well, that's great. All right, that's two plane crashes involving Chuck Lambert. This demon sounds like it was after him."

"With all due respect to Chuck, if that's the case, that would be the good news," Sam said.

"What's the bad news?" Dean asked. Hannah felt her stomach drop when she let the realization sink in, exchanging a worried glance with Sam.

"Chuck's plane went down exactly forty minutes into flight, and so did flight 2485," Hannah answered, chewing her lower lip.

"Forty minutes? What does that mean?" Jerry asked, confused.

"It's biblical numerology. You know Noah's ark, it rained for forty days. The number means death," Dean told him.

"I went back, and there have been six plane crashes over the last decade that all went down exactly forty minutes in," Hannah informed them.

"Any survivors?"

"No, or not until now, at least, not until flight 2485, for some reason."

"On the cockpit voice recorder, remember what the EVP said?" Sam said.

"'No survivors'," Dean and Hannah repeated.

Everyone was quiet, all lost in their own thoughts until Dean spoke.

"It's going after all the survivors. It's trying to finish the job," Dean realized. Hannah met his eyes, widening her own.

"We have to go, Jerry," Hannah suddenly said. "Come on, guys."

They walked at a brisk pace back to the Impala. For the whole day, they drove around to the remaining survivors residing in this city and convincing them not to take board on any flights anytime soon. It was nightfall by the time they finished calling the other survivors out of state.

"Really? Well, thank you for taking our survey, And if you do plan to fly, please don't forget your friends at United Britannia Airlines. Thanks," Sam said before hanging up his phone. "Alright, that takes care of Blaine Sanderson and Dennis Holloway. They're not flying anytime soon."

"So our only wildcard is the flight attendant Amanda Walker," Dean said.

"Right. Her sister Karen said her flight leaves Indianapolis at eight pm. It's her first night back on the job," Sam informed them.

"That sounds like just our luck," Hannah mumbled, leaning back and crossing her arms. "This is a five-hour drive, even with Dean behind the wheel."

"Call Amanda's cellphone again, see if we can't head her off at the pass," Dean grumbled, accelerating the Impala a little.

"I already left her three voice messages," Sam replied, annoyed. "She must have turned her cellphone off. God, we're never going to make it."

"We'll make it," Dean snapped.

"Don't worry, Sam," Hannah said, smiling a little. "All we have to do is not let Amanda get on that plane."

"What? Are you suggesting kidnapping?" Sam teased.

"No!" Hannah laughed. "But I wouldn't cross that off the list."

Sam and Dean shared a bewildered look that made Hannah laugh harder.

"Oh, good, she's joking," she heard Dean mutter.

* * *

After an unsuccessful attempt at stopping Amanda Walker by pretending to be a doctor on the phone, Sam decided that they needed to do plan B: get on the plane.

Dean wasn't excited to get on the plane. He was actually terrified at the prospect of flying on a thing that could easily crash and kill everybody on board. He didn't want to get on that plane, but he couldn't let Sam and Hannah do this alone so he forced himself to purchase a plane ticket and board the plane.

He bounced his knee nervously, wondering where the hell Hannah was. She had disappeared the moment Sam said they needed to get on board, telling them that she'd meet up with them soon.

"Just try to relax," Sam advised quietly.

"Just try to shut up," Dean snapped without looking up from the safety pamphlet he was reading. "Dude, do you think Hannah ditched?"

"No. She wouldn't do something like that," Sam answered, glancing around.

_Calm down, Winchester_, Dean told himself. He hummed the lyrics to _Fade to Black_ to relax himself.

"You're humming Metallica?" Sam questioned incredulously.

"Calms me down," Dean replied defensively.

"Look, man, I get you're nervous, alright? But you have to stay focused," Sam said, staring at him. "I mean, we got thirty-two minutes and counting to track this thing down, or whoever it's possessing, anyway, and perform a full-on exorcism."

"Yeah, on a crowded plane. That's gonna be easy," Dean said derisively. "Where the fuck is Hannah?"

"Refreshments?"

Dean and Sam looked up, and the former felt his mouth go dry. It was Hannah, and she was dressed in the red stewardess uniform. Her silky brown hair was swept into a mid-high ponytail, and there was a flush to her face, like she had been running.

"How did you...?" Sam gestured to Hannah's uniform.

"Um, I said I needed to go undercover since we're on high alert for another plane crash," Hannah explained, leaning down so she wouldn't be overheard. "The badge helped." She stood up and handed the boys cups of water. "Meet me in the bathroom in five and fill me in."

"Got it." Sam nodded. Dean watched Hannah walk down the aisle offering refreshments to the other passengers. "Who do you think it's possessing?"

Dean gulped down the small cup of water, still nervous as hell. He thought for a moment, taking in deep breaths.

"It's usually gonna be somebody with some sort of weakness," Dean murmured. "You know, a chink in the armor that the demon can worm through. Somebody with an addiction or some sort of emotional distress."

"Well, this is Amanda's first flight after the crash. If I were her, I'd be pretty messed up," Sam remarked.

"Alright, well, I'll let Princess know and maybe she can see if Amanda is possessed," Dean said, then hesitantly unbuckled his seatbelt. "I brought holy water too, so maybe Hannah can toss some on her."

"No." Sam took the bottle of holy water from Dean and stuffed it in the pocket of his hoodie. "I think we can go more subtle. If she's possessed, she'll flinch at the name of God."

"Oh. Nice," Dean said, getting up.

"Hey," Sam called.

"_What?"_ Dean looked at him.

"Say it in Latin."

"I know."

"Okay, hey."

"What?" Dean hissed.

"Uh, in Latin, it's _Christo_," Sam told him in a rather patronizing tone.

"Dude, I know," Dean snapped. "I'm not an idiot."

Dean made his way down the aisle and nearly had a heart attack when the plane shook. Once he was positive that the plane was stable, he continued over to the bathroom where he found Hannah waiting.

They looked around to see if anyone was watching before slipping into the bathroom. It was already cramped with one person, but it felt like a claustrophobic person's nightmare. It wasn't so much Hannah as it was another person pressed up against him.

"Are you okay?" was the first thing she asked.

"No," Dean admitted, then cleared his throat. "Look, we think Amanda might be the one who's possessed."

"I spoke to her and she definitely isn't possessed. I even said _Christo_," she said, frowning.

"Damn," Dean muttered. He fished for his EMF meter in his pocket and handed it to Hannah. "Here. It'll look less strange if a stewardess is walking up and down the aisle with it."

"Thanks." Hannah paused, staring at him with those doe eyes. "You'll be fine out there?"

He shrugged, not even trying to deny his fear of flying anymore.

"Well, Dean, just think about what your dad would do in this situation," Hannah advised, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"He wouldn't let his fears get the better of him," Dean said quietly, mostly to himself. "You know, I never thought you'd be the type to join the mile-high club."

Hannah rolled her eyes and gestured for him to leave the bathroom. Dean smirked and slipped out the bathroom unnoticed. The plane shook once more and Dean scrambled to hold onto something. When the plane stopped shaking, he realized he had been clutching Hannah.

Her face was red and Dean immediately let go of her. After an awkward moment, he and Hannah went their separate ways.

* * *

Ten minutes passed when Hannah met up with the boys again near the bathroom. She informed them that she received no readings on the EMF meter from the passengers.

"How much time we got?" Dean asked, nervous.

"Fifteen minutes. Maybe we missed somebody," Sam answered, looking behind him at the passengers.

"Maybe the thing's just not on the plane," Hannah suggested, then smiled sheepishly. "Or maybe that's just wishful thinking."

"I'm willing to believe that!" Dean exclaimed, eager to agree with Hannah than Sam.

Hannah looked down when she heard the EMF meter spike just as the copilot exited the bathroom. She nudged Dean who noticed the EMF meter as well.

"_Christo_," he said calmly.

The copilot stopped on his way to the cockpit to look at them. His eyes flared black as he opened the door to the cockpit and entered. Hannah exchanged alarmed glances with Sam and Dean.

"Uh... what do we do now?" Hannah asked.

"We need to speak to Amanda and tell her what's going on," Sam replied.

"And tell her what? Jump out the plane?" Hannah questioned, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Tell her everything," Sam said.

"She's not going to believe this," Dean muttered, but they followed Sam as he approached Amanda.

"Hannah, I see you've made new friends," Amanda said, smiling politely at the boys. "I hope the flight is not too bumpy for you guys."

"Actually, that's kind of what we need to talk to you about," Dean said as Sam closed the curtain behind them.

"Um, okay. What can I do for you?" Amanda asked warily.

"Alright, this is gonna sound nuts, but we just don't have time for the whole 'the truth is out there' speech right now," Dean told her in a hushed voice.

"We know you were on flight 2485," Hannah blurted out.

The smile on Amanda's face fell, and there was a distrusting look in her eyes. "Who are you guys?" she demanded.

"Now, we've spoken to some of the other survivors. We know something brought down that plane and it wasn't a mechanical failure," Sam continued, ignoring her question.

"We need your help because we need to stop it from happening again. Here. Now," Dean said, his eyes boring into Amanda's.

"I'm sorry, I—I'm very busy. I have to go back—" Amanda sputtered out as she tried leave, but Dean stopped her.

"We're going to hurt you," Hannah assured her. "But please listen to us. The pilot in 2485, Chuck Lambert. He's dead."

"Wait. _What_?" Amanda was shocked.

"He died in a plane crash. Now, that's two plane crashes in two months. That doesn't strike you as strange?" Dean questioned, tilting his head.

"Look, there was something wrong with 2485. Now maybe you sensed it, maybe you didn't. But there's something wrong with this flight, too," Sam said, urgency thick in his voice.

"Amanda, you _have_ to believe us," Hannah pleaded.

Amanda hesitated, pain crossing her features. "On... on 2485, there was this man. He... had these eyes."

"Yes." Sam nodded encouragingly. "That's exactly what we're talking about."

"I don't understand, what are you asking me to do?" Amanda asked, confused.

"Bring the copilot back here," Hannah instructed her.

"Why? What does he have to do with anything?" Amanda creased her brows.

"We don't have time to explain," Sam said, getting impatient. "Do whatever it takes. Tell him there's something broken back here, whatever will get him out of that cockpit."

"Do you know that I could lose my job if you—"

"Well you're gonna lose a lot more if you don't help us out," Dean warned.

"Okay," Amanda relented then hesitantly made her way over to the cockpit.

Hannah and the boys readied themselves. She flipped the pages to John's journal until she found one labeled **Exorcism**. While she never dealt with a demon before, Hannah could speak near perfect Latin thanks to her dad's rigorous teachings. He wanted Hannah to be prepared.

The copilot finally arrived, unaware of the holy water in Sam's hands.

"Yeah, what's the problem?" he asked.

Dean surprised him with a punch to the face, effectively knocking him to the floor.

"Wait! What are you doing? You said you were just gonna talk to him," Amanda exclaimed, watching as Dean wrapped duct tape over the copilot's mouth.

"We're going to talk to him," Dean replied, keeping the demon still. It twisted its body in pain when Sam splashed some holy water on him.

"Look, we need you calm," Sam told Amanda. "We need you outside the curtain. Don't let anybody in, okay?"

"Amanda," Hannah said, looking up at her. "Breathe. You need to calm yourself, okay? Can you do that, Amanda?"

Amanda looked at the demon then back at Hannah, giving her a shaky nod. She left them and stood outside the curtain to prevent anyone from coming in.

"Ready?" Hannah asked, watching as the demon thrashed against Dean.

"_Yes!"_ Dean and Sam both yelled.

Hannah began reading in Latin, struggling to keep her voice from raising so no one could overhear them. She stopped, gasping when the demon suddenly knocked Dean away from him and ripped the tape off his face. He grabbed Sam by the collar of his hoodie and jerked him forward.

"I know what happened to your girlfriend!" the demon exclaimed, malice clear in his tone. "She must have died screaming! Even now, she's burning!"

Sam sat, stunned by the demon's words. Hannah scrambled over to the demon and kneed him in the throat. Dean managed to hold down the demon once more, and Sam seemed to snap out of his daze.

Clearing her throat, Hannah continued the exorcism and finally finished the first part of the exorcism. The demon's host convulsed until black smoke rushed out of his mouth.

"Fuck! Where did it go?" Dean shouted, looking around wildly.

"It's in the plane," Sam answered then froze when the plane began shaking. "Hurry up, Hannah, and finish it!"

The plane suddenly dipped so violently that the journal was knocked out of Hannah's hands. She tried to retrieve it, but was thrown back into the wall. Dean was breathing so rapidly and shortly that it worried Hannah, but she needed to focus on finishing the exorcism.

Taking his hand, she gave it a squeeze before reaching over him for the journal.

"Dean," she said quietly. "It's going to be okay."

Without another word to him, she continued the exorcism over the sounds of the passengers' screams. There was a light that shot through the plane like a lightning bolt then slowly, the plane stopped shaking and became stable once more.

Hannah could hear everyone asking each other if they were okay. Sam let out a relieved sigh before pushing himself off the floor. She turned to Dean who was still grasping her hand.

"We did it," she whispered, smiling excitedly. "Can you believe it? I did my first exorcism! Can you imagine how proud Daddy will be once he hears about this?"

Dean snorted, letting his head roll back and hit the wall. "Yeah, well, I'm pretty proud myself. Thanks for not letting us die."

"It actually wasn't that bad, dealing with a demon and all," Hannah remarked, thoughtful.

"Yeah, just wait until we have another demon case, Princess, and you'll regret saying that shit," Dean said, chuckling. "Come on. I want to get off this death trap."

Hannah grinned and accepted his outstretched hand, gasping from how Dean was able to pull her off the ground with one arm. She stumbled towards him then immediately took a step back, her cheeks warming.

He stared at her before shaking his head, chuckling.

"You are such a dork," he told her, barely even flinching when Hannah slapped his arm.

* * *

Half an hour later, the plane landed and everyone was ushered out to safety. Hannah quickly changed into her regular clothes before leaving the plane. The feds, ambulance, and FAA were there speaking and helping everyone. Hannah, Dean, and Sam managed to slip away and head back to the Impala.

"You okay?" Dean asked Sam.

"Guys, it knew about Jessica," Sam said slowly.

"Sam, these things lie. They enjoy the pain of others," Hannah reassured him. "That's all it was."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, though his expression was concerned.

"I guess you're right," Sam ceded, but he didn't sound convinced.

Hannah looped her arm with Sam's. "Come on," she murmured, urging him along.

Jerry found them and led them to his hangar. He looked like he didn't know what to say.

"Nobody knows what you guys did, but I do. A lot of people could have been killed," Jerry finally said. He shook each of their hands, and directed the next thing he said to Sam and Dean. "Your dad's going to be real proud."

"We'll see you around, Jerry," Sam responded.

"You know, Jerry," Dean suddenly said, making Jerry pause. "I meant to ask you, how did you get my cellphone number, anyway? I've only had it for six months."

"Your dad gave it to me," he answered.

"What?" Sam snapped his head in Jerry's direction.

"When did you talk to him?" Dean demanded.

"I mean, I didn't exactly _talk_ to him, but I called his number. His voice message said to give you a call," Jerry explained then offered a mild wave. "Thanks again, guys."

Hannah was bewildered by this new information. It made no sense. They had been trying to reach John ever since they went to Stanford to get Sam. Each time, he wouldn't answer. Sam was voicing Hannah's very thoughts, gesturing angrily.

Dean pulled out his phone and dialed his dad's number. He put it on speaker so Hannah and Sam could hear the voicemail.

"_This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. 785-555-0179. He can help_."

There was a pregnant pause. Sam scowled and gestured for Hannah to climb in the backseat before he sat down in the passenger seat. Hannah obliged only after seeing the furious look in Sam's eyes.

_If John is telling people to call his son, then what exactly is he doing?_ Hannah wondered as Dean drove away from the airport.


	5. Bloody Mary

**A/N: **Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing the last chapter. Special thanks to _RebornRose1992_ and _gottahavekyuubi_ for the reviews.

**5.**

**Bloody Mary**

"Someone's blowing up your phone," commented Dean, when the phone wouldn't stop vibrating for the past seven minutes.

"Mm." Hannah continued to ignore her phone in favor of her magazine.

"Are you going to _answer _it?" he asked.

Hannah didn't answer. She wasn't eager to answer any calls from _him_. He hadn't called lately, but now he called back with a vengeance. Dean was the sole reason why she wasn't answering him now. Having a conversation with Warren when was _Dean _in the car was out of the question.

Silence finally filled the car. Hannah sighed in relief. Warren's persistence was flattering, but she couldn't focus on him. Not when Sam was hurting and John Winchester was missing. She hesitated checking her voicemail. If she heard his voice again, Hannah didn't know what she'd do.

"Who called?" Dean asked her.

"Wrong number," Hannah lied, shoving her phone in her purse. Before Dean could reply, Sam flinched awake in the passenger seat. Guiltily, Hannah was glad for the that. She couldn't deal with Dean pestering.

"Bad dream?" Dean questioned.

Sam didn't answer.

"Sam, was it about... you know, _her_?" Hannah inquired.

He nodded, staring at the building ahead. Hannah frowned, wishing he would just talk to them, but then again, she couldn't say anything against Sam's refusal to open up. She was still avoiding any conversation about Warren.

She saw the sign on the building and blanched when she read it. "We aren't visiting the _morgue_, are we?" Hannah asked.

"Yup. Welcome to Toledo, Ohio," Dean replied, unbuckling his seat belt.

"So, what do you guys think _really _happened to this guy?" Sam questioned, glancing at Dean and Hannah.

"That's what we're here to find out," Dean said as he stepped out. He stuck his head back in the car when Hannah didn't come out. "Aren't you coming?"

As much as Hannah didn't want to examine a corpse, she willed herself to climb out of the Impala and follow the boys inside the hospital. She beamed up at Sam when she felt him give her a comforting pat on the back.

The corridors leading to the morgue were empty. That only served to make Hannah more nervous as they approached one of the two desks in the waiting room. She glanced at the empty desk, her eyes flitting to the nameplate.

"Hi," Hannah greeted, smiling politely.

The person sitting at the morgue tech desk looked up from his phone and nearly dropped it. His eyes raked over her figure, and Hannah hoped he was admiring her clothes and not her body.

_Wishful thinking_, thought Hannah. Really though, he _should _have been admiring her clothes. She was dressed so cute today, even if she was just visiting the morgue.

"Hey," the morgue tech said, smiling widely at her. He seemed oblivious to Dean and Sam standing behind her. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah," Dean said, loud enough to gain the morgue tech's attention. He stepped in front of Hannah and took control. "We're the, uh, med students."

"Sorry?" His expression was a mixture of doubt and surprise.

"Oh, Dr. Figlavitch didn't tell you?" Dean feigned surprise, but his act was less than convincing. "We talked to him on the phone. We're, uh, from Ohio State. He's supposed to show us the Shoemaker corpse. It's for our paper."

The morgue tech glanced at Hannah and Sam who both shrugged helplessly.

"Well, I'm sorry, he's at lunch," he informed them. He didn't seem to believe Dean at all, not that Hannah blamed him. Dean was a terrible actor.

"Oh well he said, uh—" Dean struggled to think of another excuse then waved his hand dismissively. "—oh, well, you know, it doesn't matter. You don't mind just showing us the body, do you?"

"Sorry, I can't," he replied curtly. "Doc will be back in an hour. You can wait for him if you want."

Hannah shot Dean a pointed look. He narrowed his eyes at her then turned back to the morgue tech.

"An hour? We gotta be heading back to Columbus by then," Dean said, glancing at Sam and Hannah for confirmation.

"Yeah." Sam nodded. He leaned down and muttered to Hannah, "Please do something before we get kicked out."

"What he's trying to say is—" Hannah pushed Dean aside and stood in front of the desk. "—is that this paper is half our grade and I _really _want an A on this assignment, so can you _please _show us the body? Please? It would really mean a lot to me."

He stared at her, his Adam's apple bobbing. She pulled her lower lip back with her teeth, giving him a pleading look. Finally, the morgue tech sighed and stood up, motioning for them to follow him.

"Thank you so, _so_ much!" Hannah exclaimed, bouncing on her feet.

"No problem," he muttered.

She was about to follow him, but Dean grabbed her forearm and held her back.

"What?" she asked.

"Why did you do that? I had it under control," Dean said, petulant.

"Dean, you looked ready to hit him in the face," she said, suppressing her laughter. "I don't really think that counts as having it 'under control'."

Dean rolled his eyes and let go of her arm. They walked alongside each other as they caught up with Sam and the morgue tech.

"The only reason he agreed to show us the body is because of those doe eyes of yours. Disappointing you is like killing Bambi," Dean remarked, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

"No, he agreed to show us the body because of how cute I look today," Hannah corrected, gesturing to her clothes.

"Can you really call a gremlin _cute_?" Dean questioned, smirking. He dodged her incoming slap and stood on the other side of Sam who glared at the both of them.

She gave Sam an apologetic smile then turned her focus back to the morgue tech. He offered her a small smile which she returned. His face flushed red as he pulled out the body.

"Now, the newspaper said his daughter found him. She said his eyes were bleeding," Sam stated.

"More than that." The morgue tech pulled back the sheet. "They practically liquefied."

It was true. Steven Shoemaker's eye sockets were an empty mess filled with dried blood. Hannah was used to seeing gruesome things like this in _films_, not in real life. Bile rose in her throat, and Hannah swallowed thickly.

"Any sign of a struggle?" Dean's deep voice snapped Hannah's attention away from the grisly corpse. "Maybe somebody did it to him?"

The morgue tech shook his head. "Nope," he answered. "Besides the daughter, he was all alone."

"What's the official cause of death?" Sam asked mechanically.

"Ah, Doc's not sure. He's thinking massive stroke, maybe an aneurysm? Something burst up in there, that's for sure," he replied, uncertain.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, frowning.

"Intense cerebral bleeding. This guy had more blood in his skull than anyone I've ever seen," he responded with a lopsided grin.

"What would cause his eyes to go like _that_?" Sam asked.

"Capillaries can burst. See a lot of bloodshot eyes with stroke victims," the morgue tech answered.

"Yeah? You ever see exploding eyes?" Dean demanded.

"That's a first for me," he admitted, still grinning. "But hey, I'm not the doctor."

"Hey, think we could take a look at that police report? You know for, uh... our paper," Dean proposed. Hannah chewed her lip, suppressing another giggle at his cocksure attitude.

"Think I could get your number?" he asked Hannah, smiling shyly.

"Oh." Hannah blinked in surprise. "Um, sure."

"Uh, Han—" Sam started, but Hannah brushed him off and wrote down her number in swirly numbers then added a heart at the end of her name.

"Thanks, Alison," the morgue tech breathed then went to retrieve the police report for them.

"_Alison_?" Dean and Sam echoed.

She winked at them and waited patiently for the morgue tech to return. When he did, Hannah forced a coquettish grin and thanked him for letting them look over the police reports. He looked so smug as he showed them the way out that Hannah had to refrain from rolling her eyes.

"So, _Alison_, care to explain why you just gave away your number to some random asshole?" Dean questioned when the morgue tech was out of earshot.

"I didn't actually give him _my_ number. I gave him my dad's number," Hannah explained, laughing. "So, what do you guys think?"

"Might not be one of ours. Might just be some freak medical thing," Sam said after reading the report.

"How many times in Dad's long and varied career has it actually been a freak medical thing and _not_ some sign of an awful supernatural death?" Dean responded, staring at Sam incredulously.

"Uh, almost never," Sam replied, abashed.

"Exactly," Dean said, smirking.

"Alright, let's talk to the daughter," Sam decided.

"Think these Shoemakers can fix up one of my shoes?" Hannah joked.

"Lame," Sam said, yet he smiled.

* * *

Hannah immediately felt uncomfortable once she and the boys entered the Shoemaker home where everyone was dressed in black suits and dresses.

"We are _so _under dressed," she whispered to Dean and Sam.

"At least you look cute, though," Dean said, smirking.

They walked past the other mourners until Sam touched a man's shoulder lightly.

"Excuse me, do you know where Mr. Shoemaker's daughter is?" Sam asked him.

The man nodded and pointed to a teenage girl with short, flippy black hair and younger girl with long brown hair sitting with two other girls in the backyard. Hannah felt bad for what they were about to do, but it needed to be done.

They approached the girls and Dean was the first to speak. "You must be Donna, right?" She nodded.

"We're really sorry for your loss," Hannah told her. Sam and Dean nodded sympathetically.

"Thank you," Donna said. Her face was ashen, and Hannah just wanted to hurry this up so they wouldn't further bring this girl pain.

"I'm Sam, this is Dean and Hannah." Sam pointed to the three of them. Hannah offered her a mild wave and a kind smile. "We worked with your dad."

"You did?" Donna stared at them skeptically.

"Yeah. This whole thing..." Dean looked around at everyone dressed in funeral clothes. "I mean... a stroke."

One of Donna's friends, a pretty girl with long blonde hair, snapped her head up and narrowed her eyes at Dean.

"I don't think she really wants to talk about this right now," the girl said sharply.

"It's okay. I'm okay," Donna assured her, letting out a shuddering breath.

"Were there any symptoms? Dizziness, migraines?" Sam asked Donna, ignoring the startled look she gave him.

"No." Donna shook her head.

Hannah noticed that the youngest of the girls looked at them, a haunted expression on her face. _She knows something_, Hannah realized, not taking her eyes off the girl.

"That's because it wasn't a stroke," the young girl said boldly.

"Lily, don't say that," Donna admonished, glaring at her. She turned back to Hannah and the boys. "I'm sorry. She's just upset."

"No, it happened because of me," Lily insisted.

"Lily," Sam said in a low voice. He went over to her and crouched down so they were eye to eye. "Why would you say something like that?"

Lily hesitated, glancing at the other girls before meeting Sam's eyes again. She seemed to be debating whether to disclose whatever information she had with this stranger, but Sam had this trustful openness to him. The puppy dog eyes helped too.

"Right before he died... I said it," Lily confessed.

"You said what?" Sam asked.

"Bloody Mary, three times in the bathroom mirror," Lily whispered then after a pregnant pause, added, "She took his eyes, that's what she does."

Hannah tensed. She knew Bloody Mary was just a legend, but for her, it was an awful childhood memory.

She remembered it vividly. Hannah had been eight years old, friendless and lonely. Dean and Sam were out on the road and hadn't visited her in seven months, so she felt even more alone. Shannon, the most popular girl in her grade, had sought Hannah out and invited her to hang out with her small group of friends during recess. Hannah had thought she was actually fitting in.

Things never worked out for her. Shannon and her three other friends pressured her into saying Bloody Mary in the girls' bathroom. They had turned off the lights and locked her in there. Hannah had been stuck in the girls' bathroom for the whole day until the janitor found her crying in one of the stalls and comforted her.

She never saw Bloody Mary, though. Hannah guessed that was a good thing.

"That's not why Dad died," Donna reassured her little sister. "This isn't your fault."

"No, I don't think so," Lily murmured, looking down at her feet.

"Well, we give you our condolences," Sam said, standing up. "Come on, guys."

Silently, they went back inside and slipped upstairs. Hannah could feel her pulse quicken as they neared the bathroom where Donna's father died. She widened her eyes when Sam pushed the door open to see some dried blood on the tile floor.

"The Bloody Mary legend," Sam murmured as he crouched down to get a better look at the blood. "Dad ever find any evidence that it was a real thing?"

"Not that I know of," Dean replied, stepping passed Sam into the bathroom. "What about you, Princess?"

Hannah entered the bathroom, shutting it behind her. She crossed her arms as she leaned against the door.

"I played Bloody Mary when I was eight years old," she told them, looping a lock of hair behind her ear. "But nothing happened. I mean, everywhere else all over the country, kids will play it, and as far as we know, nobody dies from it."

"Yeah, well, maybe everywhere it's just a story, but here it's actually happening," Dean suggested. Hannah pointed at him and nodded her head agreeing.

"The place where the legend began?" Sam asked as Dean shrugged and opened the medicine cabinet. "But according to the legend, the person who says B—" He paused when saw his reflection in the mirror. He shot Dean a dirty look before standing up and shutting it. "The person who says you-know-what gets it, but here..."

"Shoemaker gets it instead, yeah," Dean finished. "Never heard anything like that before. Still, the guy did die right in front of the mirror, and the daughter's right. The way the legend goes, you-know-who scratches your eyes out."

"You-know-who does not scratch your eyes out," Hannah corrected, "He uses the Avada Kedavra Curse."

"Did you just...?" Sam began to ask, but Hannah cut him off.

"It's worth checking into," Hannah said, opening the bathroom door. "To the library?"

Dean groaned and followed her out. They were about to descend the stairs when the blonde girl from earlier rounded on them.

"What are you doing up here?" she questioned, her voice as sharp as a whip.

"We had to go to the bathroom," Hannah replied, which was half true.

"Who are you?" she demanded, crossing her arms.

"Like we said downstairs, we worked with Donna's dad," Dean responded, looking at the girl strangely.

"He was a day trader or _something_. He worked by himself," the girl said, staring at them with distrust.

"No, I know, I meant—" Dean stumbled over his words.

"And all those weird questions downstairs, what was that? So you tell me what's going on, or I start screaming," the girl threatened.

Hannah exchanged a worried glance with Sam and Dean. _Should we_? seemed to be the question going through their heads. Ultimately, Sam was the one to respond to the girl's threat.

"Alright, alright," Sam ceded. "We think something happened to Donna's dad."

"Yeah, a stroke," the girl said, still eyeing them suspiciously.

"That's not a sign of a typical stroke. We think it might be something else," Sam confided to her.

"Like what?" the girl asked, curious now.

"Honestly? We don't know yet. But we don't want it to happen to anyone else. That's the truth," Sam answered, somber.

"So, if you're gonna scream, go right ahead," Dean said, gazing about her.

She hesitated, the mistrust in her eyes lessening. "Who are you, cops?"

Sam exchanged amused glances with Dean and Hannah, both who forced themselves to suppress their smiles.

"Something like that," Hannah answered for them, allowing herself to smile. "You know what? If you think of anything, you or your friends notice anything strange, out of the ordinary, just give us a call."

Hannah gestured for Sam to give her pen and paper. He gave her a look, but reached into his pocket and handed her pen and paper then turned so she could use his back as something to write on. She handed the girl the paper and they walked down the stairs and back to the Impala.

* * *

"Ah, home sweet home," Hannah sighed, smiling when they entered the familiar building.

Dean stared at her quizzically. "'Home sweet home' is the library?"

"I'm like Belle from _Beauty and the Beast_. I love books," Hannah replied. She turned to face them, and walked backwards. "Think guys. How would something like this start?"

"Well, if Bloody Mary is _really _haunting this town then there's gonna be some sort of truth like a local woman who died nastily," Dean started, and Hannah nodded. She loved it when they all brainstormed together.

"Yeah, but a legend this widespread it's hard," Sam pointed out. He saw Hannah's smile falter and he quickly explained himself. "I mean, there's like fifty versions of who she actually is. One story says she's a witch, another says she's a mutilated bride, there's a lot more."

Hannah lost her footing and nearly tripped backwards. She flailed her arms, trying to keep her balance. When she looked up, she smiled sheepishly and ignored the burning in her cheeks from Dean and Sam's snickering.

Fortunately, they were kind enough to ignore her clumsiness and continued discussing the job.

"So what do we look for?" Dean asked no one in particular.

"Local newspapers and public records of a woman named Mary," Hannah replied unthinkingly.

"Well, that sounds annoying," Dean remarked.

"No, it won't be so bad, as long as we..." Sam paused, and Hannah followed his gaze. All of the computers were out of order. Sam chuckled, shaking his head. "I take it back. This will be _very _annoying."

It took them several hours to collect and check out numerous old newspapers and public records about possible leads. They returned to their motel room and Hannah was determined to figure out who this ghost was so they could salt-and-burn her remains.

She noticed Sam dozing off on one of the beds, and she nudged Dean whom she sat near on the other bed.

"Maybe he'll actually get some sleep," Hannah whispered.

"Maybe," Dean agreed, barely looking up from an article he was reading. A beat passed before he said, "Hannah."

Hannah stared at him, startled by the serious tone in his voice as well as him using her actual name and not her nickname.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Who was calling you earlier?"

"It was a wrong number."

"Bullshit. Wrong numbers don't call for ten minutes."

"Well, it was."

Dean watched her. His green eyes were too focused on hers and it took all of Hannah's strength not to drop her gaze.

"How are you feeling, anyway?" he asked. His voice was awkward, tentative. "About… what happened."

Hannah immediately knew what he was talking about. She didn't want to talk about _that_ either, but then Dean would have another thing to be suspicious over.

"I'm fine," was the only thing she could come up with.

"Are you?" Dean bounced his leg. "I never meant for _any _of that to happen, you know. And it's not your fault either. I hope you know that."

It was entirely her own fault why she nearly died during that job, and it somewhat annoyed her how Dean and her dad kept telling her that it wasn't. Why couldn't they let her take responsibility for her foolish actions? It was a stupid mistake, and Hannah was determined not to do it again if they ever encountered another vampire.

"No, listen to me." Dean moved closer to her, and Hannah was a little surprised. "It was your first job and I was dumb enough to suggest we split up."

"You're not dumb," Hannah said softly. "I'm fine, Dean."

"Are you really?" he questioned again. It was so strange how concerned he was. It would make her heart race if she weren't irritated. "Look me in the eye and tell me you're fine."

"I'm _perfectly _fine," she exclaimed, then cupped her mouth shut. She looked at Sam to see if he had woken up, but he merely stirred, twisting his body until his back was to them. "I thought you hated talking about feelings, Dean."

"I do, but I'm willing to make an exception when you almost fucking died," Dean replied.

She couldn't find a response for that. Her belly fluttered at how caring he was for her. Not trusting herself to speak, Hannah returned to her research. Fifteen minutes later, Sam woke with a sharp gasp. Hannah and Dean shared worried looks before waiting for Sam to relax. He did after a moment and rolled over, his chest heaving from whatever nightmare he experienced.

"Why'd you let me sleep?" Sam asked hoarsely, sitting up.

"Because I'm an awesome brother," Dean answered flatly.

Hannah rolled her eyes at him then smiled hopefully at Sam. "Did you rest well?"

"Yeah, what did you dream about?" Dean asked nonchalantly.

"Lollipops and candy canes," Sam replied.

"Sounds delicious," Dean fired back, not missing his sarcasm.

"Hannah, did you find anything?" Sam decided to ignore his brother.

"No," Hannah sighed. "We looked at everything. A few local women, a Laura and a Catherine committed suicide in front of a mirror, and a giant mirror fell on a man named Dave, but no Mary."

Sam groaned and fell back on the bed. "Maybe we just haven't found it yet."

"I've also been searching for strange deaths in the area, you know. Eyeball bleeding, that sort of thing," Dean added, frustrated. "There's nothing. Whatever's happening here, maybe it just ain't Mary."

_Hollaback Girl _by Gwen Stefani jingled in the room, interrupting their discussion. Hannah smiled sheepishly and answered it, trying to ignore the disbelieving looks she received from both Dean and Sam.

"Hello?" Hannah said, wondering who could be calling. She had specific ringtones for nearly every contact in her phone.

"_Is this Hannah_?" asked a hysterical voice.

"Yes, this is she."

"_Look, i-it's Charlie from the funeral_. _One of my best friends just died and I-I_—"

"Tell me where you are."

"_A-At the park_..."

"Listen to me, Charlie. My friends and I will come right now, okay?"

Charlie sniffled and forced out, "_Okay_."

Hannah snapped her phone shut and turned to the guys. "Do you guys remember the blonde girl who was questioning us at the funeral?"

"Yeah, what about her?" Dean asked.

"She says one of her friends just died," Hannah explained, standing up.

"Looks like we found ourselves a new lead," Sam said, getting up as well.

_In the worse possible way_, Hannah thought as she followed the boys out of the room.

* * *

Charlie was a crying mess when they found her sitting on a park bench. She explained to them how she'd only spoken to her friend Jill hours ago, then received a call from Jill's mother that they found her on the bathroom floor with her eyes missing.

"And she said it," Charlie continued. Hannah glanced at the guys, both sitting up straighter. "I heard her say it. But it couldn't be because of that. I'm insane, right?"

"No, you're not insane," Hannah reassured her.

She blinked then started to sob again. "Oh God, that makes me feel so much _worse_."

"Look. We think something's happening here. Something that can't be explained," Sam said. somber.

"And we're gonna stop it but we could use your help," Dean assured her.

"What... what do you want me to do?" Charlie asked, sniffling.

"Help us get inside Jill's room," Sam answered then hastily added after seeing her eyes widen. "We need to see if there's anything there to help us stop this... thing from hurting more people."

Charlie nodded and went over to her car. They got inside the Impala and followed her over to Jill's house. Sam set their duffel bag gently on the bed and began rummaging through it as Hannah and Dean looked around.

"What did you tell Jill's mom?" Sam inquired of Charlie.

"Just that I needed some time alone with Jill's pictures and things," she answered, fidgeting with her hands anxiously. "I hate lying to her."

"Trust us, this is for the greater good," Dean said as Hannah took the digital camera from Sam. "Hit the lights."

Charlie went over to the light switch and turned it off. "What are you guys looking for?"

"We'll let you know as soon as we find it," Dean replied.

"Put it on night vision," Sam instructed Hannah. She obliged as he pulled out the EMF meter.

Hannah zoomed in on Dean who waggled his brows at her. "Do I look like Paris Hilton?"

"Oh yeah," Hannah said, grinning. "So hot."

Dean snorted at her impression of Paris Hilton. Hannah followed Sam inside Jill's closet and filmed it in case they saw something out of the ordinary.

"So I don't get it. I mean... the first victim didn't summon Mary, and the second victim did. How's she choosing them?" Sam wondered.

"Beats me," Dean said unhelpfully from the bedroom. "I want to know why Jill said it in the first place."

"It was just a joke," Charlie replied in a strained voice.

"Yeah, well somebody's gonna say it again, it's just a matter of time," Dean declared, watching Hannah drift to the bathroom. "Don't say you-know-who."

"I know, Dean," Hannah drawled, trying not to roll her eyes. She stiffened when she aimed the camera on the mirror, noticing silvery substance trickle down to the bottom of the mirror. "Guys, check this out."

She heard someone leave the room through the window and Hannah turned off the camera and set it on the counter. Dean entered the bathroom and with his help, they lifted the mirror and placed it face down on the bed. Sam returned and ran the black light over it, but found nothing.

Hannah and Sam peeled off the brown paper on the back of the mirror. Sam shone the light over it again, and Hannah chewed her lower lip when they discovered an eerie handprint with a name scrawled underneath it.

"Gary Bryman?" Charlie read, bemused.

"You know who that is?" Sam asked her.

"No." Charlie shook her head.

* * *

"So, Gary Bryman was an eight year old boy," Sam told them, moving to stand in front of Hannah, Dean, and Charlie, all three who sat on the park bench. "Two years ago he was killed in a hit and run. The car was described as a black Toyota Camry, but nobody got the plates or saw the driver."

"Oh my God," Charlie muttered, horror plain on her face.

"What?" Hannah asked her, concerned.

"_Jill _drove that car," she revealed.

Hannah glanced at Dean, frowning. He flashed a small smile before getting up.

"We need to get back to your friend Donna's house," Dean decided.

"What are you guys going to do?" Charlie asked, looking at them.

"We need to check out their bathroom mirror," Hannah explained, "I know this is an annoying task, but can you distract her for us?"

"Yeah, I can do that," Charlie murmured, nodding her head.

They drove over to Donna's house. Sneaking inside her house was a little more difficult than Jill's, but they made it inside without a hitch. Hannah could hear Charlie downstairs chatting with Donna.

Hunching over the mirror, she waited for Sam to move the black light over the back of the mirror. The same handprint from Jill's mirror was on this one, and another name was scrawled underneath it.

"Linda Shoemaker," Hannah read quietly. "It could be Donna's mother."

"Could," Dean agreed then straightened.

"We need to make sure," Sam said, shutting off the black light. "We need to ask Donna."

Hannah sighed before sneaking out of the house once more and standing to Sam's right as Dean knocked on the front door. Donna answered and seemed surprised to see them again. Dean fibbed something and she stepped aside to let them in.

"We were thinking about your dad today," Dean started, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "And we were wondering if you know a Linda Shoemaker?"

"Why are you asking me this?" Donna asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Look, we're sorry, but it's important," Sam said apologetically.

"Yeah. Linda's my mom okay? She overdosed on sleeping pills, it was an accident, and that's it," Donna answered, irritated. "I think you should leave."

"Now, Donna, just listen—" Dean tried, but Donna pointed to the front door.

"Get out of my house!" she screamed before promptly running upstairs.

"Oh my God," Hannah heard Charlie mutter. "Do you really think her dad could have killed her mom?"

"Maybe." Sam shrugged, glancing at Hannah who was still debating it.

Charlie looked upstairs then back at them. "I think I should stick around."

"Alright. Just, whatever you do, don't—" Dean reminded.

"Believe me, I won't say it," Charlie cut in, paling at the thought.

* * *

For the whole night, they researched Bloody Mary. Nothing in the town archives suggested that any potential Marys died here. Dean and Sam were both frustrated with the lack of information, but that didn't deter Hannah.

She stood to stretch her stiff limbs. "Wait, you're doing a nationwide search?" Hannah asked, peering over Dean's shoulder at the laptop.

"You are?" Sam asked, confused.

"Yep. The NCIC, the FBI database," Dean confirmed, leaning back in his seat. "At this point, any Mary who died in front of a mirror is good enough for me."

"But if she's haunting the town, she should have died in the town," Sam said rationally.

"I'm telling you there's nothing local, I've checked. So unless you got a better idea—" Dean started then flinched when Hannah suddenly squeezed his shoulder. "What?"

"Both victims had secrets where people died, right?" Hannah said. Dean and Sam both nodded and continued, "So, what if that's the way Mary is choosing her victims?"

"Right," Sam agreed after thinking about it. "I mean there's a lot of folklore about mirrors, that they reveal all your lies, all your secrets, that they're a true reflection of your soul, which is why it's bad luck to break them."

"Right, right. So maybe if you've got a secret, I mean like a really nasty one where someone died, then Mary sees it, and punishes you for it," Dean deduced then grinned at Hannah. "Aren't you just a Smarty-Pants?"

Hannah merely shrugged, grinning back.

"Take a look at this," Dean said as he printed two pictures. The first photo had a woman lying in a puddle of blood near a mirror while the second photo was a handprint exactly the same as the other they had seen.

"Looks like the same handprint," Sam observed, studying at the pictures.

"Her name was Mary Worthington. An unsolved murder in Fort Wayne, Indiana," Dean told them.

"To the Batmobile!" Hannah exclaimed, hurrying around the room to pack her belongings.

"That makes you Robin," Dean said to Sam.

Sam rolled his eyes. "No, _you're _Robin."

"_Neither _of you are cool enough to be Batman!" Hannah said as she retrieved her things from the bathroom.

"Shut up," they both said.

* * *

Driving from Ohio to Indiana would have normally taken three hours, but with Dean's driving, it only took two. Hannah sometimes feared for her life when Dean was in a rush somewhere which was ninety percent of the time.

Hannah felt relieved that they weren't posing as feds again and instead were reporters. There was always that fear in the back of her head that someone would inspect their badges and discover that they were frauds.

The receptionist directed them fairly quickly to the detective's office where they introduced themselves to a middle-aged man. He seemed surprised when they told him they were interested in Mary Worthington's story.

"I was on the job for thirty-five years. Detective for most of it," revealed the detective. "Now everybody packs it in with a few loose ends, but the Mary Worthington murder... that one still gets me."

"What exactly happened?" Dean asked him.

"You three said you were reporters?" the detective asked, glancing at them skeptically.

"We know Mary was nineteen," Hannah said, hoping to ease his suspicions.

"Lived by herself, right," Sam continued then listed off several facts about Mary Worthington's life. "We know she won a few local beauty contests, dreamt of getting out of Indiana, being an actress. And we know the night of March 29th someone broke into her apartment and murdered her, cut out her eyes with a knife."

"That's right," confirmed the detective, sighing.

"See sir, when we asked you what happened, we wanted to know what _you_ think happened," Hannah explained, meeting his forlorn gaze.

The detective hesitated then reached over to his file cabinet. "Technically I'm not supposed to have a copy of this." He opened the file to the picture Dean had found online. "Now see that there? T-R-E? I think Mary was trying to spell out the name of her killer."

"You know who it was?" Sam asked him.

"Not for sure," the detective admitted. "But there was a local man, a surgeon Trevor Sampson, and I think he cut her up good."

"Why would he do something like that?" Hannah inquired, curious.

"Her diary mentioned a man that she was seeing. She called him by his initial, 'T'," the detective explained. "Well, her last entry, she was gonna tell 'T''s wife about their affair."

_Scandalous_, thought Hannah, straightening.

"Yeah, but how do you know it was Sampson who killed her?" Dean questioned.

"It's hard to say, but..." The detective sighed. "The way her eyes were cut out... it was almost professional,"

"But you could never prove it?"

"No. No prints, no witnesses. He was meticulous."

"Nope," the detective told them. "If you ask me, Mary spent her last living moments trying to expose this guy's secret, but she never could."

"Where is she buried?" Sam inquired.

"She wasn't. She was cremated." Hannah refrained from rolling her eyes in annoyance, keeping her face impassive. This job only got more difficult now that Mary was cremated.

"What about that mirror?" Hannah gestured to the mirror in the picture. "It's not in some evidence lockup somewhere is it?"

"Ah, no. It was returned to Mary's family a long time ago," he answered, staring at them oddly.

Sam managed to get the names and phone numbers of Mary Worthington's family before leaving. Hannah reached for the keys to the Impala when Dean pulled it out of his pocket. She pouted when Dean held it out of her reach.

"Can I drive?" she asked, straining to grab the keys he held above his head. "Come on, Dean. I haven't driven in _forever_!"

"The last time you drove my Baby, you—"

"—Crashed it into a house. I know, you remind me nearly every day. And that was _ages _ago!"

Dean grinned and tossed it higher in the air then snatched it before Hannah could. She scowled at him, hating how short she was. She turned to Sam who had been watching them with an amused expression.

"Sammy, please tell him that _I _should get a turn to drive," Hannah requested.

"Han, he won't even let _me_ drive," Sam reminded her. "What makes you think he'll let you drive?"

"Will you ever let me drive?" Hannah demanded, turning back to Dean.

"Only if I'm dying," Dean replied then pushed his seat forward. "Now, are you getting in or not?"

Hannah rolled her eyes and climbed in the backseat of the Impala. Not that she minded sitting back there, but she longed to be behind the wheel. What good was having a license if you weren't going to use it?

While Sam began calling the list of numbers the detective gave them, Hannah felt her thoughts drift to the time she herself played Bloody Mary.

* * *

_14 Years Ago_

The girls' bathroom was usually abandoned during recess, so Hannah was not surprised to find no one there when she and the others entered it. Butterflies erupted inside her stomach and she couldn't stop smiling.

For once in her life, the popular girls had invited her, _Hannah_ of all people, to eat lunch and play at recess with them. Hannah usually spent her recess on the swings or reading a book on a nearby bench.

"Have you ever played Bloody Mary?" asked Shannon, the prettiest girl in their grade. She wore the daintiest dresses and always wore the loveliest ribbons in her hair.

Hannah blanched at the question. Bloody Mary was only a legend, Daddy told her so. Despite that, Daddy also told her not to risk saying the ghost's name. She shook her head, and Shannon giggled with her friends.

"Well, that's the only way you'll be able to hangout with us," said Chloe, another friend of Shannon's.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Hannah murmured, shifting on her feet.

"You _don't _want to hangout with us then?" Shannon asked, her voice sharper and no longer giggling.

"No!" Hannah widened her eyes. "I want to hangout with you guys! Please?"

"We have to turn off the lights and we'll be outside while you say it," Shannon told her, leading the others out. "Make sure you say it loud enough for us to hear. Okay?"

"Okay." Hannah nodded, trying to ignore how clammy her hands felt as the lights flicked off and the door shut.

Part of her knew she should listen to Daddy, but another part of her was lonely and Shannon was actually inviting her to hangout. _I bet Dean wouldn't be scared of a ghost_, Hannah thought, knowing that the twelve year old would call her a baby for being afraid of a ghost. He probably killed dozens of ghosts during his travels.

Closing her eyes, Hannah forced herself to say her name loud enough for Shannon to hear.

"Bloody Mary... Bloody Mary... Bloody Mary."

Hannah opened her eyes and saw nothing in the mirror. She sighed in relief, glad to know she didn't summon a ghost. Daddy would have been furious if she had. She walked over to the door and tried to open it, but it was stuck.

"Shannon!" Hannah called, pulling the door handle harder. "I think it's stuck! Can you help me!"

"Nope!" responded Shannon, "Have fun playing with Bloody Mary, _loser_!" Hannah heard her cackle then run off with her friends, all laughing unkindly.

_Loser_.

That was what Shannon called her. She never really wanted to be Hannah's friend. She was just being mean, as always. Warm tears pricked her eyes and Hannah wiped them away angrily. She didn't want to cry. She _hated _to cry. Hannah always felt like such a baby whenever she did.

_I __am_ _a loser_, Hannah thought miserably. She sunk to the floor, hugged her knees, and cried. Why didn't anyone want to be her friend? Hannah was never cruel to anyone of her classmates. Maybe she was too much of a teacher's pet like everyone said.

She didn't know how long she sat on the floor crying, but her crying dwindled to sniffling when the bathroom door opened slowly. Hannah looked up to see only the janitor, a man with hazel eyes, brown hair, and a playful smile. She had seen him around school sometimes, usually listening to his walkman and eating candy.

He pulled out one earbud and tilted his head at her. "What are you doing in here, kiddo?"

"Someone locked me in here," Hannah replied, drying her face with the sleeve of her sweater.

"Well, I guess that explains why there was a broom in the door handle," said the janitor. He joined Hannah on the floor. "What's your name?"

"Hannah... Hannah Singer," she told him hesitantly.

"Ah, so you're a banana, Hannah?" he said, and Hannah smiled. "So, why would anyone want to lock you in here?"

"These girls... they made me think they wanted to be my friend, but they... they called me a loser and locked me in here by myself," Hannah explained, biting her lip to keep from crying again.

"What bitches," the janitor responded after a moment. Hannah gasped, surprised he used a bad word. "Oh, sorry! I forgot you're just a kid. Pretend I didn't just swear, will you?"

She nodded, laughing.

"Listen, Hannah Banana, you are not a loser," the janitor said softly when her laughter died down. "Those girls are just jealous of you. Why else would they pull such a mean trick on a sweet girl like you?"

"Jealous of me?" Hannah echoed, frowning. "I... I don't have any friends, no one wants my company, so why would they be jealous of me?"

The janitor shrugged then nudged her. "Think about it, kiddo. Are you smart?"

Hannah nodded. "The _smartest_. I get A's on every test we take and answer every question the teacher asks correctly."

"Then that's the reason why those girls are jealous," he said, smiling. "And because you're so pretty."

"I am not. Shannon is," Hannah replied, laughing at how absurd his compliment was. She? Pretty? Hannah was a flying monkey from _The Wizard of Oz_ compared to Shannon.

The janitor chortled. "You're funny, kiddo," he said, still chuckling. "No, I've seen Shannon and the only reason she wears those cutesy dresses is to distract everyone from her plain Jane face. _You_ on the other hand have what she lacks."

"Brains?" Hannah guessed, making the janitor laugh even more.

"That to, but I was going to say kindness," he told her then studied her face. "You have stunning eyes. Bluer than the sky. A lot of boys will probably want to be the sun in them once you get older."

Hannah stared at the janitor, startled by his sweet words.

He pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to her. Hannah looked and saw that it was a piece of candy.

"Thank you, Mr. Janitor," Hannah said, smiling and feeling much better than earlier.

"No problem, kiddo," he said, getting up. He helped her up and pulled out another piece of candy for himself. "Don't let those girls bother you again, Hannah Banana. Just remember that they're jealous of you."

She nodded and hurried back to her classroom where she had gotten in trouble for missing half of the lesson. Hannah was embarrassed, especially when Shannon smirked at her, but Hannah couldn't forget the janitor's kind words or gentle smile.

It was too bad Hannah never saw him again.

* * *

_Present_

"So?" prompted Dean the moment Sam got off the phone.

"So, that was Mary's brother. The mirror was in the family for years, until he sold it one week ago to a store called Estate Antiques. A store in Toledo," Sam told them.

"Isn't there an old superstition that says mirrors can capture spirits?" Hannah asked, leaning forward. "That would explain why Mary's spirit goes wherever the mirror goes."

"Yeah, there is," Sam answered, thoughtful. "Yeah, when someone would die in a house people would cover up the mirrors so the ghost wouldn't get trapped."

"So, Mary dies in front of a mirror, and it draws in her spirit," Dean said, trying to piece together this case.

"Yeah, but how could she move through a hundred different mirrors?" Sam pondered.

"All we know is that the mirror is the source and we need to destroy it," Hannah decided.

Dean looked back at her with a grin. "That's the spirit!"

Hannah rolled her eyes and settled back against the seat. She just wanted to put an end to this ghost's vengeful attacks.

Sam opened his mouth, but Hannah's phone trilled and she saw a familiar number on the screen. Flipping it open, she answered, "Hello?"

"_Hannah, I-I saw it_," stammered Charlie. "_Donna said it. I'm going to die. Oh God, I'm going to die!_"

"You're not going to die," Hannah reassured her. "Are you at home?"

"_Yeah_..."

"Look, we're on our way back to Toledo right now. We're not going to let you die, alright?"

"_Just... just hurry_."

"Don't look at any mirrors. Cover them if you can."

"_Okay_."

"Charlie saw her," Hannah said as soon as she ended her call.

Her back collided with the hard seat from the sudden acceleration of the Impala. Hannah scooted over to one side of the car and put on her seat belt then clutched Sam's shoulders as Dean drove faster.

"I think _we're _going to die before Charlie does," Hannah said to Sam. He snorted and leaned over to pat one of her hands on his broad shoulders.

* * *

They picked up Charlie who didn't hesitate to throw herself in the backseat next to Hannah. She put a comforting arm around the blonde teen, and rubbing her back soothingly as they returned to their motel.

Charlie covered her eyes with her hands as Hannah led her inside. Dean and Sam quickly got to work covering every mirror. Charlie sat down on the bed and buried her face in her knees, trembling with absolute fear.

When they finished, Sam sat down next to Charlie on the bed, with Hannah sitting on the other side of her.

"Hey, you can open up your eyes, Charlie," Hannah said softly. "It's okay, alright?"

She slowly looked up and relief was plain on her face when she saw that everything was covered.

"Now listen. You're gonna stay right here on this bed, and you're not gonna look at glass, or anything else that has a reflection, okay? And as long as you do that, she cannot get you," Sam instructed, giving the poor girl a small smile.

"But I can't keep that up forever," Charlie pointed out. "I'm going to die, aren't I?"

"No, not anytime soon," Sam said, resolute.

Dean moved to sit down next to Hannah on the bed, leaning forward so he could look at Charlie. "Alright, Charlie, we need to know what happened."

"We were in the bathroom," Charlie explained, glancing between the three of them. "Donna said it."

"That's not what we're talking about," Dean said, and Hannah was certain Charlie knew that. "Something happened, didn't it? In your life a secret where... someone got hurt. Can you tell us about it?"

A terrified look crossed her features, but Hannah smiled encouragingly for Charlie to speak. She took a deep breath before revealing her secret.

"I had this boyfriend. I loved him. But... he kind of scared me, you know? And one night, at his house, we got in this fight. Then I broke up with him, and he got upset, and he said he needed me and he loved me, and he said "Charlie, if you walk out that door right now, I'm gonna kill myself." And you know what I said? I said "Go ahead." And I left. How could I say that? How could I leave him like that?" She searched Hannah's face, as if Hannah could explain why she left. "I just... I didn't believe him, you know? I should have."

Then she started to cry and Hannah pulled her into a hug. When Hannah looked at the boys, she froze at the rigid look on Sam's face. _Oh, Sam_, Hannah thought, knowing too well that Charlie's story triggered the sore memory of Jessica.

Untangling herself from Charlie, Hannah stood from the bed and placed her hands on Charlie's shoulders.

"We're going to stop this thing," Hannah told her, determined. "Just... sit tight and we'll take care of it, alright?"

Charlie nodded and watched them leave. Hannah cursed inwardly when it started to drizzle outside. The drizzle turned to outright rain as they drove to Estate Antiques.

"You know her boyfriend killing himself, that's not really Charlie's fault," Dean stated, after a moment of silence.

"Well, _we _know that, but Mary doesn't," Hannah replied, bouncing her knee from the anticipation of facing this vengeful spirit.

"You know, I've been thinking. It might not be enough to just smash that mirror," Sam suddenly said.

Dean glanced at Hannah through the rearview mirror then returned his gaze to the road. "Why, what do you mean?"

"Well, Mary's hard to pin down, right? I mean she moves around from mirror to mirror so who's to say that she's not just gonna keep hiding in them forever?" Sam seemed hesitant before continuing, "So... maybe we should try to pin her down, you know, summon her to her mirror and then smash it."

"How do you know that's going to work?" Dean questioned, dubious. Hannah wondered if Dean was pretending to not realize what Sam was trying to say.

"I don't, not for sure," Sam said, shifting in his seat.

"Are _you _going to summon her then, Sam?" Hannah asked, unable to keep this going.

Sam twisted around in his seat to look at her. "Yeah, I will. She'll come after me."

"You know what? That's it!" Dean gave a sharp turn as he pulled the Impala over to the side of the road. "This is about Jessica, isn't it? You think that's your dirty little secret that you killed her somehow?" Sam looked down guiltily, and Dean's expression softened. "Sam, this has got to stop, man. I mean, the nightmares and calling her name out in the middle of the night—it's gonna kill you. Hannah, _please _tell him it wasn't his fault."

Hannah gazed about Dean, her breath lost from the pleading look in his eyes. She looked at Sam and touched his face gently. He averted his eyes from her and Hannah gave his cheek a light squeeze before touching his shoulder.

"It wasn't your fault, Sam," Hannah told him softly. "You have to know that it wasn't your fault, and I'm certain Jessica knows that too. If you want to blame something, blame the thing that killed her."

"Hell, why don't you take a swing at me?" Dean muttered, and Hannah looked at him sharply. "I mean, I'm the one that dragged you away from her in the first place"

"Dean, it isn't _your _fault either," Hannah admonished.

"I don't blame either of you," Sam said quietly.

"Well, you shouldn't blame yourself, because there's nothing you could've done," Dean said firmly, crossing his arms.

"I could have warned her," Sam murmured.

"About what?" Dean snapped, annoyed with Sam's reluctance to accept that Jessica's death was an accident. "You didn't know what was gonna happen! And besides, all of this isn't a secret, I mean I know all about it. It's not gonna work with Mary anyway."

"No, you don't." Sam shook his head, moving out of Hannah's grasp and turning away to look out the window.

"I don't what?" There was an edge to Dean's tone that worried Hannah.

"You don't know all about it. I haven't told you everything," Sam replied, his eyes flitting to Hannah's through the rearview mirror. She felt like he had told her something before, and was begging her not to speak.

Dean uncrossed his arms and he seemed confused rather than irritated. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, it wouldn't really be a secret if I told you, would it?" Sam remarked, turning to his brother with a mirthless smile.

"No," Dean decided, his irritation returning "I don't like it. It's not gonna happen, forget it."

"Dean, that girl back there is going to die unless we do something about it. And you know what? Who knows how many more people are gonna die after that? Now we're doing this. You've got to let me do this," Sam said steadfastly.

Hannah glanced at Dean, noticing the uneasy look on his face. Without another word, he started the car and they drove in silence. Despite bringing up Jessica, Hannah felt like nothing was resolved. Had Sam told her something? Hannah wished she could remember just what he said. Then again, she wouldn't be able to tell Dean and he would get mad at her. If she _did _tell Dean, Sam would get mad at her. Overall, it was a lose-lose situation and Hannah was bothered that she couldn't remember nor did Sam _want _for his "secret" to be told to his own brother.

They reached Estate Antiques thirty minutes later where Hannah pulled out a bobby pin and crouched down in front of the door. She picked at it for a few seconds before smiling nervously as the door creaked open.

"How do you know how to do that?" Sam asked her.

"Dean taught me," she replied, jutting her thumb out to Dean. "Flashlight, please."

Dean handed her a flashlight and she turned hers on. He and Sam turned theirs on as well and they shone their lights around. Hannah heard Dean groaned at the many mirrors surrounding them.

"Well, that's just great," Dean said through gritted teeth. "Alright, let's start looking."

Drifting away from the guys, Hannah flashed her light around, checking each mirror to see if it matched the one they were searching for.

"Maybe they've already sold it," Dean called from the other side of the room.

"I don't think so," Sam replied. Hannah gripped her flashlight and made her way over to Sam where he stood in front of a particular mirror. Glancing at the photo in Dean's hand, Hannah realized that this was the mirror they had been looking for.

"Are you sure about this?" Hannah asked Sam.

He nodded and handed Hannah his flashlight. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to say, "Bloody Mary... Bloody Mary... Bloody Mary."

Sam picked up a crowbar and readied himself, but nothing appeared. Hannah flinched when she saw a harsh light hit them.

"I'll go check that out," Dean told them then gave Hannah his crowbar. "Stay here, be careful. Smash anything that moves."

"You got it, Fred," Hannah said, smiling.

"Does that make you Daphne?" Dean asked.

"Dean, the door," Sam interrupted, in a flat voice.

"Right. Thanks for reminding me, Velma." Dean disappeared into the darkness. Hannah shook her head, smiling.

She stood closer to Sam, her heart beating faster with each passing minute. "Do you see her?" she asked him.

"Not yet." Sam moved his flashlight around them, checking each mirror for Mary's spirit.

Then suddenly, Sam lunged for one mirror and smashed it. Hannah shrieked, startled by the loud noise. He smashed another mirror, looking around wildly. She watched, stricken with fear as Sam turned back to the original mirror and dropped his crowbar, as if afraid.

"Sam?" Hannah called out uncertainly.

Her eyes widened when blood began trickling from the corners of his eyes. He doubled over, clutching his chest. Reacting quickly, Hannah raised her own crowbar and shattered Mary's mirror.

"Sam! Are you okay?" Hannah roped one of Sam's arms over her shoulder and helped him to stand.

"Yeah," coughed Sam.

"Sammy! My God, are you alright?" came Dean's voice. Hannah knew he was near, recognizing his musky scent.

"It's Sam," Sam corrected weakly.

"Come on." Dean lifted Sam's other arm and they walked slowly out of the store.

"Wait," Sam suddenly said, freezing when he heard something step over broken glass.

Hannah was nearly pulled to the ground when Dean and Sam both collapsed, their eyes bleeding again.

"Where is she?" Hannah asked, looking around.

Weakly, Dean pointed in front of him. _Mirrors capture spirits!_ Hannah remembered then grabbed a large mirror and faced it in front of wherever Dean pointed. She shoved the mirror to the ground, wincing from the sound of more glass breaking.

She dropped to the ground and used her flashlight to see how badly the boys were hurt. Hannah let out a soundless gasp, horrified from the blood seeping out of their eyes. Dean lifted his head, his body no longer convulsing.

"You alright?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," he breathed, slowly sitting up. "Hey, guys?"

"Yeah?" she and Sam both asked.

"This has got to be like... what? Six hundred years of bad luck?

She and Sam glanced at each other before laughing lightly.

* * *

When they returned to the motel, Hannah made sure Sam and Dean stayed put on the bed as she used a warm, damp washcloth to wipe away the dried blood from their eyes. She could tell they were annoyed with her constant, "Are you _sure _you're alright?" but Hannah didn't want them hiding any pain from her.

After all, she was the best thing they had when it came to nursing, second only to an actual hospital.

They packed their things and put their duffel bags in the trunk before dropping Charlie off at her house. Hannah wondered what sort of excuse the teen would use to explain to her parents that she had been gone all night.

"So, this is really over?" asked Charlie as Dean pulled up in front of her house.

"Yeah, it's over," answered Dean, nodding.

"Thank you," Charlie said, relief plain on her face.

Dean smiled kindly and reached over in the backseat to shake her hand. She turned to Hannah and hugged her tightly. Hannah was a little surprised, but hugged her back.

"Charlie?" Sam called, his hand on the opened passenger door. She whirled, waiting for him to speak. "Your boyfriend's death...you really should try to forgive yourself. No matter what you did, you probably couldn't have stopped it. Sometimes bad things just happen."

Charlie smiled wanly and waved goodbye before entering her house.

"That's good advice," Dean said, punching Sam in the shoulder. A beat passed before Dean suddenly asked, "Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Now that this is all over, I want you to tell me what that secret is."

Sam locked eyes with Hannah, and Dean noticed the exchange. Much to her relief, he didn't say anything about it.

"Look, you're my brother and I'd die for you, but there are some things I need to keep to myself," he responded, staring out the window.

Hannah frowned, wondering what dark secret Sam kept that he was adamant about not revealing to his own brother.


	6. Skin

**A/N: **Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing! Special thanks goes to _RebornRose1992_, _crazykatz411_, _Tove_, and a guest for reviewing. Enjoy!

**6.**

**Skin**

Dean's eyes were fixed on Hannah. She held his gaze, unwilling to look away.

Then she blinked and Dean grinned, whooping over her loss.

"I _told _you I would win a staring contest," said Dean, sliding out of the driver's seat.

"You still suck at rock-paper-scissors," pointed out Hannah, following him out. She stretched her legs, stiff from sitting in the backseat of the Impala for hours.

He rolled his eyes at the reminder. For the past three minutes, they had been playing the staring contest in the parked car, both having been incredibly bored throughout the entire drive. Sam was on his Palm Pilot the whole time, uncaring that Dean hadn't filled the gas tank yet.

"Alright, I figured we'd hit Tucumcari by lunch, then head south, hit Bisbee by midnight," Dean told her and Sam as he filled the gas tank.

"Sounds like a plan," Hannah said, leaning against the passenger door.

They turned to Sam, waiting for his response, but he said nothing.

"Sam wears women's underwear," Dean taunted, trying to provoke his younger brother, but had no effect.

"I've been listening," Sam finally said, absently. "I'm just busy."

"Busy doing what?" Hannah inquired, tilting her body until she was leaning over sideways and looking through Sam's window.

"Reading emails," he answered, not looking up from his Palm Pilot.

"Emails from who?" Dean asked, leaning back against the Impala next to Hannah.

Sam glanced out the window at them then chuckled. "You guys are nosy, you know that? They're emails from my friends at Stanford."

"You're kidding! You still keep in touch with your college buddies?" Dean asked, incredulous.

"Why not?" Hannah questioned, straightening. "I still talk to my friends from Chicago."

"You have _friends_?" he asked then laughed when Hannah hit his arm. "Well, what exactly do you tell them, Sam? You know, about where you've been, what you've been doing?"

"I tell them I'm on a road trip with my big brother and best friend from South Dakota," Sam replied, which was partly true. "I tell them I needed some time off after Jess."

"Oh, so you lie to them," Dean concluded.

"No." Sam frowned. "I just don't tell them everything."

"Yeah, that's called lying," Dean said then stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket. "I mean, hey, man, I get it. Telling the truth is far worse."

"Hannah, do you tell your friends everything?" Sam asked, sounding eager to prove Dean wrong.

Hannah thought for a moment before answering. "Well, _no_, but I have a psychic friend."

Dean shot Sam a smirk.

"So, what am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life?" Sam questioned, looking at his brother expectantly. Dean shrugged and Hannah looked at him, surprised. "You're serious?"

"Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can't get close to people. Period," Dean explained frankly.

She understood where Dean was getting at. Having friends who weren't aware of what lurked in the darkness was always hard to deal with. They either thought you were crazy or joking, usually the former. Still, Hannah liked having friends who were ignorant when it came to monsters. At least she never had to worry about demons or vampires around them.

"You're kind of anti-social, you know that?" Sam told him.

"Yeah, whatever." Dean didn't seem to care that he had no friends.

"I think I know why you have no friends, Dean," Hannah said, looking up at him.

"Enlighten me, Princess," Dean drawled, meeting her eyes.

"Because you probably stole all of your potential friends' girlfriends," Hannah surmised then pinched his arm. "And don't call me princess."

He wrinkled his brows, like he was actually thinking about it. She stared at him, waiting for him to deny her theory, but nothing came out of his mouth. Hannah smiled triumphantly.

"God," Sam muttered.

"What?" Hannah and Dean asked in unison.

"In this email from this girl, Rebecca Warren, one of those friends of mine," Sam said, distraught.

"Is she hot?" came Dean's response. Hannah rolled her eyes and he said, "What?"

"I went to school with her and her brother, Zack. She says Zack's been charged with murder. He's been arrested for killing his girlfriend. Rebecca says he didn't do it, but it sounds like the cops have a pretty good case," Sam explained, creasing his brows as he continued to read the email.

"My God, Sam, what kind of people are you hanging out with?" Hannah blurted out, shocked at what he was telling them.

"She's right, dude. Murderers?" Dean was unimpressed.

"No, I know Zack. He's no killer," Sam said defensively.

"Well, maybe you know Zack as well as he knows you," Dean suggested while putting the gas pump back in its place.

"They're in St. Louis. We're going," Sam decided.

"Look, sorry about your buddy, okay? But this does not sound like our kind of problem," Dean told him in a rather patronizing tone.

Hannah grabbed his arm before he could open the driver's door. "Of _course_ it's our problem. These are Sam's friends, Dean."

Dean looked down at her hand then back at her. "Are you serious?"

She gazed about him intently. He stared back, stubborn. Then something shifted in Dean's expression and he tilted his head back groaning. Hannah let a slow smile spread across her face, realizing she had won.

"But St. Louis is four miles _behind_ us," he complained.

"Hey, maybe you'll actually make a friend there," teased Hannah as she climbed in the backseat.

Sam snorted, and Dean shot her a dirty look as he slid in the driver's seat and turned the key in the ignition.

* * *

The front door swung open, revealing a blonde girl who was just Dean's type. _Here we go_, thought Hannah.

"Oh my God, Sam!" she exclaimed, pleasantly surprised.

"Well, if it isn't little Becky," Sam greeted, smiling back.

"You know what you can do with that little Becky crap." Rebecca feigned annoyance, but opened her arms and the two embraced, laughing.

"I got your email," he explained when they separated.

"I didn't think you would come," Rebecca admitted. She looked past Sam and noticed Hannah and Dean.

Dean stepped forward and smiled. "Dean. Older brother." He and Rebecca shook hands, and he turned to Hannah. "This is Hannah, the best friend."

Hannah smiled and shook Rebecca's hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"We're here to help," Sam told her, earnest.

"Whatever we can do, just let us know," Hannah added.

"Come in." Rebecca stepped aside to let them in. Hannah looked around, appraising the splendidly decorated house.

"Nice place," Dean commented, voicing Hannah's thoughts.

"It's my parents'. I was just crashing here for the long weekend when everything happened," Rebecca replied, and Hannah could hear the emotion threatening to rise in her voice. "I decided to take the semester off. I'm going to stay until Zack's free."

"Where are your parents?" Hannah asked, noticing how empty the house was.

"They live in Paris for half the year, so they're on their way home now for the trial," she answered as they entered the kitchen. "Do you guys want a beer or something?"

Dean brightened and was about to accept her offer for beer, but Sam cut him off. "No, thanks. So, tell us what happened."

Her brother returned home and found his girlfriend Emily tied to a chair. She was beaten and not breathing. The police arrived and arrested him, but the strange thing in Rebecca's story was that Zack was at two places at once. The police have security footage showing Zack arriving home at ten-thirty. Emily was killed just after that, but Rebecca insisted Zack was with her drinking beers until midnight.

_Two places at once?_ Hannah thought, bewildered. What sort of person could be at two places at once?

"You know, maybe we could see the crime scene—Zack's house," Sam proposed.

"Why? I mean, what could you do?" Rebecca asked, wretched.

"Well, me, not much, but Dean and Hannah are cops," Sam said, much to Hannah and Dean's surprise.

"We are?" Hannah whispered to Dean who was just as startled by the ironic lie. "Um, yeah, we're detectives actually."

"Really?" Rebecca had a mixture of shock and solace on her face. "Where?"

"Bisbee, Arizona," Dean lied, "but we're off-duty now."

"Oh." Rebecca blinked and looked back and forth at Hannah and Dean. "You guys aren't...?"

Hannah frowned and asked, "We aren't what?"

"Nevermind. You guys are nice to offer, but I just—I don't know," Rebecca murmured.

"Bec, look, I know Zack didn't do this. Now, we have to find a way to prove that he's innocent," Sam told her with enough conviction to ease some of her hesitance.

Rebecca looked at the three of them, her eyes searching theirs.

"Okay," she relented, sighing. "Let me go get the keys."

When she was out of earshot, Dean turned to glower at Sam and said, "Oh, yeah, man, you're a real straight shooter with your friends."

"Look, Zack and Becky need our help," Sam stressed.

"I just don't think this is our kind of problem," Dean insisted, shrugging.

"Really, Dean? You don't find it odd that Zack was two places at once?" Hannah questioned, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, we've looked into less."

"You're no help at all," Dean grumbled, but said nothing else when Rebecca returned with the keys.

They drove to Zack's place in uncomfortable silence, especially since Sam offered to sit in the backseat with Rebecca so Hannah was forced to deal with Dean in the front. He seemed annoyed with Hannah the most, probably because she had taken Sam's side instead of his. Was Dean really that childish? Hannah wondered if she should remind him that she dropped her old life back in South Dakota to _help_ him search for his missing father.

"Are you sure this is okay?" Rebecca asked as Dean parked the Impala near Zack's house.

"Yeah, we're officers of the law," Dean assured her. He winked at Hannah, and she bit her lip to keep from smiling.

Rebecca handed Dean the keys to unlock the front door. He opened it hesitantly and Hannah widened her eyes at the blood coating the furniture and smearing the walls.

"Ladies first," Dean said, gesturing for Hannah to go.

"_Now_ you want to be a gentleman," Hannah remarked, but nevertheless entered first.

"I'm always a gentleman," he replied, smiling at her impishly. "The girls that spend the night with me always leave with a kiss."

"You're disgusting," Hannah scoffed.

"Did you want a kiss too?" Dean asked innocently.

"No, I—" Hannah started to say, but gasped when Dean cupped her face and leaned down to kiss her. She wriggled out of his hold and nearly socked him. "_Don't _do that!"

Dean grinned and looked ready to laugh, but faltered at the sharp look he received from Sam. Hannah blushed, sheepish. She turned to Rebecca, giving her a sympathetic smile.

"Tell us what else the police said," Hannah requested, moving over to stand next to Sam and Rebecca.

"Well, there's no sign of a break-in. They say that Emily let her attacker in. The lawyers are already talking about plea bargain," Rebecca answered, looking around the bloodstained room. She let out a choked sob. "Oh, God..."

"Look, Bec, if Zack didn't do this, it means someone else did," Sam told her gently. "Any idea who?"

"Um, there _was_ something," she remembered, "About a week before, somebody broke in here and stole some clothes—Zack's clothes. The police—they don't think it's anything. I mean, we're not that far from downtown. Sometimes people get robbed."

Hannah flinched when she suddenly heard barking. She walked over to the window near the kitchen and saw a dog barking wildly in the neighbor's yard. Hannah had always wanted a dog, but her dad refused to get one.

"You know, that you used to be the sweetest dog," commented Rebecca, startling Hannah. "Sorry, did I scare you?"

"A little," Hannah admitted, smiling awkwardly. "What happened?"

"He just changed." Rebecca shrugged, crossing her arms.

"Do you remember when he changed?" called Dean from the other side of the room. He joined them by the window.

"I guess around the time of the murder," she answered, staring out the window.

Hannah frowned when she noticed that Sam was nowhere in sight. Excusing herself, Hannah walked around the house until she found Sam in a hallway staring at a framed picture. Her frowned deepened when she looked at the picture.

It was of him, Rebecca, and Zack. The three were grinning and just so happy. She thought about her friends back in Baltimore._I really should call them, or at least email them_, Hannah thought.

Dean found them a moment later and leaned against the wall. "So, the neighbor's dog went psycho right around the time Zack's girlfriend was killed."

"Animals can have a sharp sense of the paranormal," Sam noted, turning away from the photo.

"You know, I told Daddy the same thing and he still refused to get me a dog," Hannah remarked.

"You can't always get what you want, Princess," Dean said, crossing his arms. He ignored the glare Hannah sent him.

"So, you think maybe this is our kind of problem?" Sam asked Dean again.

"No. Probably not." _He's so bullheaded_, Hannah thought, staring at him in disbelief. "But we should look at the security tape, you know, just to make sure."

"Yeah," Sam said, smiling smugly.

"Yeah," Dean said then turned to the sight of Rebecca who approached them. "So, the tape. The security footage—you think maybe your lawyers could get their hands on it, 'cause we just don't have that kind of jurisdiction."

"I've already got it," Rebecca confessed, guilt plain on her face. "I didn't want to say something in front of two cops."

Dean laughed.

"Don't worry, we would do the same thing if we were in your position," Hannah said, smiling. Rebecca smiled back and the four headed back to the Impala.

They got back to Rebecca's fairly quickly and migrated to the living room. She went to get the tape from her room then played it for them. By the time they finished watching the tape, Hannah already had two guesses as to what they were hunting: doppelganger or shapeshifter.

Sam seemed to be on the same page as her because he managed to get Rebecca out of the living room. He rewound the tape then stopped it when Zack looked up directly into the camera, his eyes gleaming silver.

"Well, maybe it's just a camera flare," Dean suggested, still refusing to believe that this was _their _kind of problem.

"That's not like any camera flare I've ever seen," Sam remarked.

"You know, a lot of cultures believe that a photograph can catch a glimpse of the soul," Hannah informed them.

"Remember that dog that was freaking out?" Sam reminded them. "Maybe he saw this thing. Maybe this is some kind of dark double of Zack's, something that looks like him but isn't him."

"Like a doppelganger," Dean suggested.

"I was thinking that or—" Hannah started to say but paused when Rebecca returned with their drinks and sandwiches. "Thanks, Rebecca."

* * *

Despite the fact she could barely keep her eyes open, Hannah still sat in the backseat of the Impala applying eyeliner. She wished Sam would let them sleep, but she guessed he probably wanted to continue researching this case since his friend's freedom was on the line.

"Are you almost done?" Sam asked, impatient.

"Yup," Hannah said, snapping her handheld mirror shut and shoving it back in her purse. "Care to explain what we're doing here at 5:30 in the morning?"

"I realized something," Sam said as he stepped out of the car. Hannah and Dean followed him out. "The videotape shows the killer going in, but not coming out."

"So, he came out the back door?" Dean asked, leaning against the hood of the Impala. Hannah sat down on the hood beside him and let her head fall on his shoulder, closing her eyes briefly.

"Right," Sam murmured then thought for a moment. "So, there should be a trail to follow. A trail the police would never pursue."

Hannah opened her eyes, but kept her head on Dean's shoulder, too lazy to move. "The police think the killer never left, and they caught your friend Zack inside."

"I still don't know what we're doing here at 5:30 in the morning," Dean grumbled then nudged Hannah. "How are we supposed to get anything done if we're still half asleep?"

"Dunno." Hannah yawned, her eyelids threatening to droop. She squinted her eyes when she noticed something red on a nearby telephone pole. "Sammy, what is that?"

"What?" Sam went over to the telephone pole after Hannah pointed at it. "Blood. Somebody came this way."

Dean gently pried Hannah off him and went to inspect the blood. Hannah didn't want him to go; he made a comfy pillow.

"Yeah, but the trail ends," Dean called from where he was standing. He looked around some more. "I don't see anything over here."

The sound of sirens made Hannah jump, startling her so much she was no longer drowsy. She exchanged a worried look with the boys before scrambling to get back inside the car. Dean hopped into the driver's seat and hastily turned on the ignition to follow the ambulance.

It was a short drive, and Dean parked the Impala across the street. Hannah frowned when they approached the house where the ambulance was, watching as police pulled out the yellow tape. The police guided a man in handcuffs to one of their cars.

"What happened?" Dean asked a woman nearby who was observing the scene. She told them the man tried to kill his wife, tying her up and beating her. The four of them watched until the man under arrest was driven away. The woman continued her jog, leaving Hannah and the boys to stare at the house.

"Well, I guess I can talk to the cops," Dean offered, turning to them.

"We'll check out the back then," Sam decided then gestured for Hannah to follow him.

Casually, they headed to the back of the house. For a while, nothing was said as they searched two garbage cans. They found a trail of blood, just like at Zack's, but then it just disappeared much to their annoyance.

Sam stood from the ground he was crouching on, towering over Hannah. She remembered when they were the same height for the longest time then Sam had a growth spurt around sixteen and became a gangly giant. Hannah couldn't talk, though. Puberty hit her in the most awkward places.

"Can I ask you something?" Sam suddenly asked.

"Sure," Hannah replied, turning to him. "What's up?"

"You don't remember me telling you my secret, do you?" Sam said, staring at her.

Hannah hesitated, biting her lip. "I don't remember at all. I have this feeling that you told me something, but I just _can't _remember."

He nodded, and there was a flash of relief crossing his features. "You were probably concussed when I told you, so that explains why you don't remember."

"But you won't tell me again, will you?" Hannah hoped he would.

"Hannah..." Sam winced, as if in pain. "When I told you, it was out of anger and frustration. I didn't even mean to tell you. I... I just can't."

She didn't know what hurt more, that Sam refused to confide in her or that he only let slip his secret out of anger and not because he trusted her.

"Oh. Okay." Hannah gave a nonchalant shrug, forcing a smile so that he wouldn't see how upset she was.

Sam frowned and reached out for her, but stopped when they heard Dean coming towards them.

"Remember when I said this wasn't our kind of problem?" Dean said. Hannah and Sam nodded, glancing at each other. "Definitely our kind of problem."

"What did you find out?" Hannah inquired, curious.

"Well, I just talked to the patrolman who was first on the scene, heard this guy Alex's story," Dean told them. "Apparently, the dude was driving home from a business trip when his wife was attacked."

"So, he was two places at once. Just like Zack," Hannah noted.

"Exactly. Then he sees himself in the house, police think he's a nutjob," Dean said.

"Two dark doubles attacking loved ones in exactly the same way," Sam murmured, reflective. "Could be the same thing doing it, too."

The three were quiet for a moment before Hannah snapped her fingers, figuring it out.

"Shapeshifter!" she and Dean both exclaimed. He smiled widely and she grinned back.

"Shapeshifter?" Sam repeated, doubtful.

"Every culture in the world has a shapeshifter lore. You know, legends of creatures who can transform themselves into animals or other men," Hannah explained, tapping her chin as she thought about it more. It definitely made sense now.

"Right, skinwalkers, werewolves," Dean agreed.

"We've got two attacks within blocks of each other. I'm guessing we've got a shapeshifter prowling the neighborhood," Sam concurred, then directed his next question to Hannah. "Let me ask you this—in all this shapeshifter lore, can any of them fly?"

"Not that I know of," Hannah replied, crossing her arms.

"We picked up a trail here." Sam led Dean to the trail of blood. "Someone ran out the back of this building and headed off this way."

"Just like your friend's house," Dean realized.

"Yeah, and, just like at Zack's house, the trail suddenly ends. I mean, whatever it is just disappeared," Sam said, sounding frustrated.

Hannah looked down at noticed a manhole. "Well, there's another way to go—down."

Dean and Sam exchanged a wary glance.

* * *

_At least I can cross 'explore the sewers' off my bucket list_, thought Hannah as she and the boys surveyed the shapeshifter's possible hideout. She scrunched up her nose in disgust from the rancid smell, but willed herself to keep walking through the dark tunnel.

"I bet this runs right by Zack's house, too. The shapeshifter could be using the sewer system to get around," Sam said.

"I think you're right. Look at this." Dean knelt down and pulled out his knife. He lifted something up with it, and when Hannah and Sam leaned down to examine it, they both recoiled. It was a sticky piece of bloodied skin.

"You know, I just had a gross thought. When the shapeshifter changes shape—maybe it sheds. Like a snake," Hannah said, frowning.

"That is sick," Sam agreed, disgust plain in his tone. "Let's get out of here before the shapeshifter comes back."

Dean flicked the skin off his knife then stood. He and Hannah watched as Sam climbed up first.

"Can you shoot?" Dean asked her.

"Kind of," Hannah replied as she started to climb the ladder.

"What the hell does 'kind of' mean?" Dean questioned below her.

"It means I _kind of _know how to shoot," Hannah fired back then smiled when she saw Sam's outstretched hand. "Thanks."

"No helping hand from you, Sam?" Dean grunted, pulling himself off the ground and covering the manhole with its grating. "I'm only asking because I don't want to get accidentally shot in the ass."

"My aiming _could _use a little work," Hannah admitted as they made their way over to the Impala. "But it's not as terrible as you think it is. Daddy taught me how to shoot when I was thirteen."

"Dad taught me when I was seven," Dean said proudly. He opened the trunk and began pulling out weapons. "Another thing I learned from Dad is that no matter what kind of shapeshifter it is, there's one sure way to kill it."

"Silver bullet to the heart," Sam stated, then reached into his jacket for his ringing phone. He answered it and walked not too far from them.

Hannah reached for a pistol, ignoring the apprehensive look on Dean's look. She wanted to roll her eyes. Did Dean seriously have such a low opinion of her aiming and shooting skills? Her dad didn't want her to hunt, but he didn't want her vulnerable either, so he taught her how to defend herself.

Dean nudged her and she followed his gaze, frowning when she saw the disappointment etched on Sam's face. Slamming the trunk shut, Dean went over to his brother. Hannah followed, hoping that Dean wouldn't make Sam feel worse.

"I hate to say it, but that's exactly what I'm talking about," Dean told him. Well, Hannah's hopes went right down the drain. "You lie to your friends because if they knew the real you, they'd be freaked. It's just—it'd be easier if—"

"If I was like you," Sam interrupted, in a flat voice.

"Hey, man, like it or not, we aren't like other people. But I'll tell you one thing." Dean held up a gun. "This whole gig—it ain't without perks."

Sam stared at it then took it. Dean gave him and Hannah flashlights then led the way back to and the sewers. Just when her feet hit the damp ground of the sewers, Hannah pulled her pistol out of her and had it ready as she followed the boys through the dark tunnel, brightened only by their flashlights. She shone the light around them from time to time, making sure the shapeshifter wasn't just hiding in the darkness. Hannah bumped into the back of Dean when he slowed down his pace.

"I think we're close to its lair," Dean said as Hannah stepped around him.

"Why do you say that?" Sam asked, puzzled.

"Because there's another puke-inducing pile next to your face," Dean answered. He laughed when Sam jerked away.

Hannah suppressed a shriek when something sticky touched her hair. She leapt away, then paused when she noticed a pile of clothes on the floor. "Looks like it's lived here for a while."

"Who knows how many murders he's gotten away with?" Sam wondered aloud.

Hannah paused when she heard footsteps behind her. She whirled and gasped when she saw silver eyes. The shapeshifter lunged for Dean, punching him so hard he went flying backwards.

"Dean!" Hannah shouted, fumbling to aim her pistol at the shapeshifter.

Sam fired three gunshots while Hannah fired two at the retreating shapeshifter, but it escaped. Hannah tucked her pistol back in her holster and went over to Dean who was doubled over.

Before she could ask if he was okay, he stood and yelled, "Get the son of a bitch!"

She and Sam took off after the shapeshifter, and Hannah was certain Dean was close behind. Climbing quickly, Hannah saw that the shapeshifter left the grating open. Dean grunted as he climbed out.

"Let's split up," Sam decided. "We'll meet on the other side."

"Hannah, if you don't see it in ten minutes, go to the motel. Got it?" Dean ordered.

"Why?" Hannah demanded.

"This shapeshifter likes to harm women. You're vulnerable alone, so just go back to the motel and we'll meet you there," Dean explained. He took off before Hannah could further question him. Sam shrugged and ran the other way. Hannah tilted her head back groaning then continued searching for the shapeshifter.

She didn't understand why Dean was so adamant about excluding Hannah in these hunts. Did he think she couldn't handle it? Sure, she was a rookie compared to them, but with more experience she'd be in the same league as them. How was Hannah supposed to gain this experience if Dean wouldn't _let _her?

After ten minutes, Hannah reluctantly returned to the motel. She and Dean would need to have a talk when this hunt was over.

Opening Sam's laptop, Hannah researched shapeshifters just to see if there was any information she missed. Hannah doubted there were things she didn't know about the creature.

Hannah looked up when she heard the motel room door click open. It was Dean, and he had a sheen of sweat on his tanned skin. She put the laptop on the nightstand and stood, about to greet him when she stopped, noticing that Sam wasn't behind him.

"Where's Sam?" Hannah asked, worried.

Dean looked over his shoulder, then back at her with a surprised expression on his face. "I thought he was behind me."

"You're bleeding," Hannah realizing, noticing the blood stain on his right side. "Let me clean it first."

"Thanks." Dean shut the door behind him.

He tugged off his shirt, revealing his toned chest. Nursing school taught Hannah not to lose it over a handsome patient. She studied his wound. It looked like a bullet had grazed his side, but Dean had been on the ground when Hannah and Sam were shooting at the shapeshifter.

_Could this be the shapeshifter_? Hannah thought, alarmed. She couldn't kill him, not when she was still unsure and he was so close to her.

Cleaning and bandaging his wound did not take too long. After all, it was just a graze. When she got to her feet, Dean grabbed her and pulled her down to his lap.

"Dean," Hannah exclaimed, heat rushing to her face. She gasped when one hand reached up to touch her breast, squeezing it. "_Dean_."

"You're getting me hot, Princess," Dean told her. He pulled her cardigan off to bite her bare shoulder. "Especially when you say my name like that. Have you always been this hot?"

_This isn't Dean_, she thought, knowing that Dean would never do something like this. He had tried to kiss her earlier, but hadn't been serious about it. Dean liked to tease and bother her, not touch her like a man desperate for a woman's touch.

"Stop," she said, trying to disentangle herself from his arms. Hannah froze when his hand left her breast and went between her legs.

"You know you want it," he laughed. "Don't lie. I know you think about me. You should have said something, but don't worry. I'm here now. I can finally give you what—_argh!"_

She elbowed him in the face and escaped his hold. Hannah reached for her pistol, but was tackled to the ground. Dean's face loomed over her, his green eyes shifting to silver.

"Where's Dean? And Sam?" Hannah demanded as she wrestled with the shapeshifter.

"Obviously not here, you dumb bitch," the shapeshifter retorted. He punched Hannah across the jaw so hard her teeth rattled. "My bad, baby. I want to keep your face as pretty as it is."

Hannah kneed him in the groin and rolled him off her. She grabbed her gun and aimed it at the shapeshifter, but the he lunged for her once more, knocking the pistol out of her hand. He shoved her on the ground, and pressed his knee into her back as he twisted her arm. Hannah cried out, afraid he was about to dislocate her arm.

"Dean doesn't like you," the shapeshifter suddenly said. "You annoy him every time you talk and he just wants to bash your head in."

"No, he doesn't," Hannah forced out, still in pain as the shapeshifter twisted her arm.

"I know his thoughts, sweetheart," the shapeshifter said. "But you're right. He wouldn't do the deed himself. You're worthless to him. You're the last person he would have brought along to help find his shit dad. The only reason you're here is because you're useful." She froze when she felt his nose in her hair, inhaling her scent. "And cause you're a hot piece of ass."

Then he grasped her hair and slammed her face back into the ground.

"I thought you said you wanted to keep my face pretty?" Hannah quipped then cried louder when the shapeshifter sunk its fingernails in her arm, breaking her skin.

"Oh, I thought I'd add some blush to those cheeks of yours, babe," he retorted, a sinister tone in his voice. "Sleep for a while, baby."

Before Hannah could respond, the shapeshifter let go of her arm, rolled her over onto her back and punched her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her. The shapeshifter raised her face with its hands then head butted her, and everything went black.

* * *

Sam looked up when he heard footsteps. His scowl deepened when he saw that it was the shapeshifter still in Dean's form. His eyes widened when the shapeshifter dropped a person on the ground next to him.

"Hannah?" Sam whispered. She didn't move, her body bruised and beaten. Unlike them, she wasn't tied up. "What did you do to her?!"

"Nothing you wouldn't do, Sammy," the shapeshifter replied cheerfully.

"_Don't _call me that!" Sam snarled, thrashing against the ropes. "Tell me you didn't..."

"No." The shapeshifter's eyes gleamed silver. "Not yet, I meant to say. But I have my eyes on that hot blonde. See you around, Sammy."

The shapeshifter disappeared, and Sam clenched his jaw in anger. "Damn it," he muttered.

How was he going to get out of these ropes? His ears perked up when he heard someone coughing in the darker part of the shapeshifter's lair. _Dean_, he realized, glad to know that his brother was okay.

"That better be you, Sam, and not that freak of nature," came Dean's voice after his coughing dwindled.

"Yeah, it's me," Sam said, still trying to break free from the ropes. "He went to Rebecca's looking like you."

"Well, he's not stupid. He picked the handsome one," retorted Dean. If the situation wasn't so dire, Sam would have rolled his eyes and made a witty comment about Dean's ego, but instead he said nothing. "Think Hannah's alright?"

Sam glanced at her unconscious body, swallowing thickly. "The shapeshifter found her, Dean. She's right next to me."

Dean was quiet, but Sam could feel the rage radiating off him in waves. "I fucked up, Sam."

"Dean, how were you supposed to know—?" Sam asked, frowning.

"It's my fault she's knocked out. I told her to go the motel and that only made her _more _vulnerable," Dean said, rueful. Nothing was said for a while, the only sound being them wrestling with their ropes. "So, the son of a bitch walked out of here looking like me?"

"Yeah, that's the thing. He didn't just look like you, he _was_ you," Sam told him. He creased his brows and corrected himself. "Or he was _becoming_ you."

"What do you mean?" Dean questioned, exasperated. Sam heard him finally break free of his ropes.

"I don't know, it was like he was downloading your thoughts and memories."

"You mean, like the Vulcan mind meld?"

"Yeah, something like that. I mean, maybe that's why he doesn't just kill us," Sam speculated as Dean walked over to him before crouching down to help untie the rest of his ropes.

"Maybe he needs to keep us alive, like a psychic connection," Dean suggested absently.

He could see that Dean's focus wasn't entirely on untying his ropes. Sam followed his gaze and he felt a mixture of guilt and regret. The last conversation he had with Hannah was about him not trusting her enough to tell her his secrets.

_You're not the only one who fucked up_, Sam thought. He sighed and continued undoing the rest of his ropes since Dean had loosened them for him.

Sam watched as Dean lifted Hannah gently into a sitting position. He was murmuring something to her and Sam felt relieved when he heard her stir and groan. Sam's eyes widened when Hannah's hand flew to Dean's neck, her fingers wrapping around his throat.

"Hannah, it's him!" Sam exclaimed, shocked that she would try to choke Dean.

"It's me," croaked Dean, grabbing Hannah's wrist, but not pulling her away.

Hannah stared, her chest heaving. Slowly, she let go of Dean's throat and leaned back.

"Sorry," she apologized, breathless. "Where's the shapeshifter?"

"On his way to Rebecca's house," Sam answered, staring at her with worried eyes. "Come on, we gotta go. He's probably at Rebecca's already. Can you walk?"

"Yeah." Hannah nodded and pushed herself off the ground. "What are we waiting for?"

"Nothing. Let's go," Dean said, leading the way.

* * *

Hannah poked her head out of the opening of the manhole as she lifted the grating with both hands. She scanned the area, noticing that it was nighttime and they were in an alley. Pushing the grating up and tossing it to the side, Hannah climbed out and the boys weren't too far behind.

Her jaw ached and each time she tightened her belly, it pained her. _I must look awful_, thought Hannah, frowning.

"We gotta find a phone, call the police," Sam said, urgency clear in his voice.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Dean stopped jogging and turned to Sam. "You're gonna put an APB out on me?"

Sam shrugged and apologized for the reckless idea. They continued jogging which turned into a sprint as they made it to the street. Sam filled in Hannah on their theory that the shapeshifter downloaded Dean's memory. That didn't settle well with Hannah who remembered the shapeshifter taunting her in the motel room.

Hannah tried to ignore Dean's concerned glances, but it was hard to when she could practically feel his eyes on her. She needed to talk to him, let him know that this wasn't his fault. If only Hannah could get him alone.

"If we can't call the police, at least let us give an anonymous tip," Sam suggested when they neared a payphone.

"Good idea," Dean said then fished for a quarter in his jeans pocket.

She and Sam leaned against the wall, listening to Dean call in the anonymous tip. He hung up quickly, and Hannah guessed they were starting to ask questions about _him_.

Almost an hour later, they were standing outside of a store window, watching the news report being shown on a display of numerous TVs.

"_An anonymous tip led police to a home in the Central West End, where a S.W.A.T team discovered a local woman bound and gagged_," the news anchor reported. A sketch of Dean appeared on screen. "_Her attacker, a white male, approximately twenty-four to thirty years of age, was discovered hiding in her home_."

"Man, that's not even a good picture!" Dean complained, offended.

"It's good enough," Hannah said as she and Sam glanced around in case anyone noticed Dean. She grabbed his wrist and tugged him along. "Come on."

They headed into another alley where Dean stepped into a puddle, letting out a myriad of curses. Hannah paused and turned to Dean who was shaking the water off his foot.

"They said attempted murder. At least we know—" Hannah smiled a little, but was cut off by Dean.

"I didn't kill her," he interrupted, scowling. His face softened and he ducked his head, refusing to meet her eyes.

"We'll check with Rebecca in the morning, see if she's alright," Sam decided, but Hannah thought that it was a terrible idea.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Hannah blurted, looking up at Sam. "She was just attacked by Dean and she's still mad at you. It's just... it just sounds like a recipe for disaster."

Sam frowned, but Dean threw his hands up in frustration. "We visit Rebecca or we don't. I don't really give a fuck! All I know is that I want to find that handsome devil and kick the holy crap out of him."

"We have no weapons. No silver bullets," Sam reminded him harshly.

"Sam, the guy's walking around with my face and beating the shit out of Hannah here. It's a little personal," Dean snapped, fury flickering in his green eyes like flames. "I want to find him."

"Okay," Sam relented, knowing there was no way of talking Dean out of this. "Where do we look?"

"We could start with the sewers," Dean proposed rather eagerly.

"We have no weapons. He stole our guns, we need more," Sam reminded him once again.

"Well, we have _one_ weapon." Hannah bent down and pulled a silver dagger out of her left boot.

Dean grinned.

"But we need more," Hannah said, slipping the dagger back in her boot. "The car?"

"I'm betting he drove it over to Rebecca's," Dean commented, disgust coloring his voice.

"The news said he fled on foot. I bet it's still parked there," Hannah added, crossing her arms.

Dean shook his head and clenched his fist. "The thought of him driving my car..."

"Think about killing him. That'll make you happy," Hannah suggested, smiling when some of the agitation disappeared from his face.

They continued their trek to Rebecca's house. Hannah kept looking around, making sure no one would recognize Dean. Luckily, it was dark and there weren't many people around when they neared Rebecca's neighborhood.

She spotted his car and saw relief grace Dean's features. "Oh, there she is! Finally, something went right tonight," Dean cheered.

Sirens startled them and Hannah held her arm out to stop Dean from going further. Before they could backtrack, another police car blocked the end of the street. Dean motioned for her and Sam over to a fence.

"You guys go. I'll hold them off," Sam said in a rushed voice.

"What are you talking about? They'll catch you," Dean objected, sitting on top of the fence.

"Look, they can't hold me. Just go, keep out of sight. Meet me at Rebecca's," Sam urged then gestured for him to go when he hesitated. "Go!" Hannah was about to follow, but Sam grabbed her forearm and held her back. "Be careful."

Hannah pinched his cheek then ran after Dean, climbing over the fence and following him. He slowed down his pace, waiting for her to catch up. They stopped to catch their breaths in a nearby alley.

The soreness she felt intensified. She nearly doubled over from the pain, brushing her brown hair out of her face. A couple minutes past, and Hannah straightened to see Dean leaning against the wall, panting. This was the perfect time. She had wanted to talk to Dean ever since this hunt started and now she could.

"Dean," Hannah panted, "we should go back to the motel. Change and rest before we go back to the car."

"Right." Dean nodded, standing up.

They walked alongside each other, trying to appear as casual as possible. Dean avoided eye contact with every person they past and kept himself close to Hannah's side. She exhaled, grateful that they made it back to the motel without a hitch.

While Dean showered, Hannah examined the nasty bruise on her jaw in front of the mirror on the wall near the TV. Her eyes widened from the sight, gasping a little when she lifted her black shirt to see the bruise on her belly. Her arm had scratches from where the shapeshifter drew blood. She looked horrible, and these beatings made Hannah want to kill this shapeshifter even more.

"When you're done, let me put some ice on that bruise, alright?" Dean said, when he finished showering.

"Okay," Hannah agreed, but hated how timid she sounded.

The shower took longer than she expected. Hannah had to wash her body gingerly, wincing each time her washcloth touched her bruises. When she dried herself off, Hannah changed into some clean clothes. She was squeezing water out of her hair as she left the bathroom. She was promptly seated on the edge of Dean's bed where he gently placed an ice pack over her jaw.

He was never this tender with her. Hannah could use one hand to count how many times Dean had been this gentle. It was such a disconcerting change from the playful, eager-to-rile Dean she was used to. Still, Hannah couldn't pretend that she didn't _like _this rare change in him.

"Sam says the shapeshifter downloads the memories of the people he's looking like," Hannah started, forcing herself to bring up what had been on her mind for the past couple of hours.

"Yeah," Dean mumbled, focused on healing her bruise with the ice.

"When the shapeshifter found me, he looked like you," she told him, "He said... he said you hate me."

"What?" Dean snapped his attention back at her words. "What the hell are you talking about?"

She stared at him with wide eyes. "The shapeshifter said he knew your thoughts, said that you thought I was 'worthless' and 'annoying'. He said you 'want to bash my head in every time I talk'. He said that you only keep me around because I'm 'useful'."

"That isn't true," Dean said, holding her gaze. "You know that isn't true."

"Is it though?" Hannah waited for him to answer her.

Dean pulled the ice pack away from her jaw, and the coldness had made her skin numb. Hannah reached to touch her jaw, her fingertips grazing over the bruised skin.

"You _are_ annoying," admitted Dean, and Hannah opened her mouth to protest. "But annoying in the sense that you're just so... _happy_ and _nice_ to everyone, including me, and I've been an asshole to you since the day we met."

That part was true. It was like Dean had made some sort of promise with himself _not _to be nice to Hannah. She would compliment him. He would insult her. She would make a nice comment. He would have a sarcastic remark for her. Hannah persisted, though, refusing to give up on their... _whatever_ kind of friendship they had.

"You're not worthless," Dean continued, pressing the ice pack back onto her jaw. "And I asked you to help me find my dad because I trust you... and I can't say the same for most people."

Hannah wondered if Dean could hear how loud her heart was beating.

"So... you _don't _hate me?" Hannah asked, trying her hardest not to tear her gaze away from his.

"No," he answered, and Hannah believed him. He gave her a cheeky grin. "I can't hate you, Princess."

She smiled, looking down at her lap. Heat rushed to her cheeks when she remembered what else the shapeshifter had said.

"Um, Dean," Hannah said quietly.

"Yeah?" Dean tilted the ice pack on her jaw.

"The shapeshifter _also_ said that you think I'm a... uh..."

"A what? What else did that asshole say?"

"That you think that I'm a 'hot piece of ass'."

When Hannah looked up, she saw that there was a blank expression on his face. She didn't know whether to laugh or feel _more _embarrassed.

"I mean, he's not _wrong_," Dean finally responded.

"Dean!" Hannah gasped, pushing him away. She stood and was about to retreat to the bathroom where she didn't have to look at Dean.

"No, wait, I mixed up my words!" Dean exclaimed, following her. "You've got a great rack and a nice face, but I don't see you _like that_."

"Just shut up already!" Hannah yelled, slamming the door behind her. She just wanted the ground to open up and swallow her already.

"How do you expect me _not _to notice?" Dean continued from outside the door.

"Oh my God..." Hannah muttered, sitting down on the toilet. "Go away, Dean!"

She heard him lean against the bathroom door. "You don't have to worry, though. I'm not gonna try and, like, fu—"

"Okay, I get it!" Hannah shouted, wanting to tape his mouth shut. "I don't like you _like that_ either, Dean! Now, _please _just shut up."

Dean obliged, but not without hitting the door once. Hannah buried her face in her hands, feeling flustered. Their whole friendship was just plain weird.

* * *

They had stayed up most of the night and before it was eight o'clock in the morning, Hannah and Dean headed back to the car where no police cars were surrounding it. Hannah kept her silver dagger in her left boot, but tucked a pistol in the shoulder holster she wore underneath her dark brown jacket.

Hannah swallowed thickly as they explored the tunnels, her disgust growing the more she saw piles of torn off flesh on the ground. She touched her hamsa amulet, fingering the thin chain. She was afraid of what would happen if the shapeshifter caught her another time.

"Dean," whispered Hannah when she heard something move in a corner nearby.

"Cover me," Dean told her then moved towards the noise.

Slowly, he approached a figure covered with a sheet in the corner. Hannah clocked her gun, ready to shoot if it was the shapeshifter. Dean pulled the sheet off, but it was Rebecca much to their surprise.

Rebecca was bounded to a chair, ropes tied around her feet and wrists. She looked petrified and Hannah immediately the safety on her pistol before tucking it in the holster. Hannah grabbed the knife from her boot and started to cut through the ropes while Dean pulled out his own knife to help.

"What happened?" Dean asked.

"I was walking home, and everything just went white," Rebecca explained, crying. "Someone hit me over the head, and I wound up here just in time to see that thing turn into _me_. I don't know. How is that even _possible_?"

"It's okay." Dean told her soothingly. "Can you walk?"

She nodded, and Hannah helped Rebecca up. They walked slowly over to the ladder that led to the opening of the sewers.

"Dean, I just got this crazy thought—what if the shapeshifter is pretending to be _Rebecca_?" Hannah suddenly said, her eyes widening.

"Then we need to hurry before that thing kills Sam," Dean replied, helping Rebecca up as she climbed the ladder.

They rushed to Rebecca's house and as they got to the front door, Hannah could hear Sam's groans of pain. Dean let go of Rebecca and Hannah had to hold her, the girl still weak from the beating she received. He ran inside the house, not even bothering to be quiet.

"Stay here," Hannah told her, helping Rebecca sit down on the bench on her porch.

Hannah pulled out her pistol and entered the house swiftly. She flinched when she heard two gunshots. She ran and came to a halt next to Dean who had his gun still raised. The shapeshifter died in his form.

"Sam!" Hannah cried, rushing over to Sam who was on the floor, breathing heavily. She twined her arms around his neck and he wrapped one arm around her waist. "Tell me where it hurts."

"I'm fine, Hannah," Sam said, but he sounded out of breath.

"Yeah, sure," Hannah retorted, letting go of him. "I bet it's your chest. I have this salve in the car, let me just—"

"I'm _fine_, Hannah," Sam insisted, but she didn't believe him.

Hannah stood and was about to help Sam up, but Rebecca ran over to Sam, her eyes wide with worry. She turned, about to go back to the car when she saw Dean staring at his dead form.

"The son of a bitch stole my amulet," Dean growled then yanked the amulet off the shapeshifter's neck.

"At least it's all over." Hannah smiled softly.

Dean looked at her then back at the shapeshifter. He smiled back and held out his fist. Hannah's smile broadened and she bumped her fist into his.

* * *

"_I haven't heard from you in a while, brainiac."_

"I know, and I'm sorry, but I've been busy," Hannah apologized. She stood next to Dean who had their map spread out on the hood of the Impala. Sam was talking to Rebecca on the porch of her house. "I've been meaning to call you for the longest time too, but—"

"_Stop babbling, it's not a big deal_," laughed Magda.

"It is a big deal! I've neglected you and you're one of my best friends!"

"_Girl, you are overreacting. I know hunting can make you busy_."

"That doesn't excuse me for being a horrible friend."

"_Just shut up and calm down. You are a not horrible friend, Hannah_."

"Thanks," Hannah said, smiling for a moment before frowning. "Wait, how did you know I was hunting?"

"_Psychic remember? I know these things_."

"Whatever, _That's So Raven_."

Magda laughed on the other line, and Hannah smiled again.

"_Listen, if you're ever in Baltimore, just let me know."_

"Definitely."

"_I'll talk to you later, Hannah_."

"Bye, Magda." Hannah snapped her phone and stretched her back, lifting her arms over her head. "So, _Dean-o_, where are we going next?"

Dean gave her an amused look before looking back at the map. "Back to Sioux Falls if you call me Dean-o again."

Hannah laughed lightly. When her laughter died down, she peered down at the map then glanced at Sam and Rebecca who were hugging each other goodbye. Sam came over to them just as Dean began folding the map.

"So, what about your friend, Zack?" Hannah inquired, looking up at Sam.

"Cops are blaming this Dean Winchester guy for Emily's murder. They found the murder weapon in the guy's lair, Zack's clothes stained with her blood. Now they're thinking maybe the surveillance tape was tampered with," Sam explained, and Hannah could see the annoyance brewing on Dean's face. "Yeah, Becca says Zack will be released soon."

Sam grinned, and Dean rolled his eyes.

They all climbed into the car and waved goodbye to Rebecca before driving off. Hannah settled in the backseat, briefly contemplating whether she should take a nap. She hadn't rested well since this whole hunt started and for once, Dean wasn't driving crazy.

"Sorry, man," Dean suddenly said, interrupting Hannah's choice on napping.

"About what?" Sam asked, looking at his brother.

"I really wish things could be different, you know? I wish you could just be... Joe College," Dean said, and he sounded quite honest about it.

"No, that's okay. You know, the truth is, even at Stanford, deep down, I never really fit in," Sam replied, shrugging.

"Well, that's cause you're a freak," Dean remarked, then laughed when Hannah slapped his shoulder.

"Yeah, thanks," Sam told him sarcastically.

Hannah leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Sam. "Well, I'm a freak, too, and so is Dean."

"We're right there with you, all the way," agreed Dean, making Sam laugh.

"Yeah, I know you two are," Sam said, but laughed harder when Hannah slapped his head.

"I was only saying that to make you feel better," Hannah huffed, leaning back in her seat.

She wasn't _really _mad, and she was certain Sam knew that. Hannah was just glad Sam was smiling and happy for once.

"You know, I gotta say—I'm sorry I'm gonna miss it," Dean considered.

"Miss what?" Hannah and Sam asked in unison.

"How many chances am I gonna have to see my own funeral?" Dean joked, grinning at the both of them. He laughed when Hannah slapped his shoulder again. "What was that for?"

"Don't joke about those kinds of things," Hannah hissed, but she was grinning.

She and Dean definitely had a weird friendship.


	7. Hook Man

**A/N: **Special thanks to _grapejuice101_, _wideawakepastmidnight_, _RebornRose1992_, _bjq_, and _Tove_ for reviewing!

**7.**

**Hook Man**

Hannah took a bite out of the cinnamon roll she was eating, closing her eyes briefly as she savored the taste.

"You sound like you're in a porn," drawled Dean, who was sitting beside her while searching for cases on Sam's laptop.

"No, _you_ sound like you're in a porno whenever you eat pie," Hannah retorted after swallowing the piece of cinnamon roll she was chewing.

Dean rolled his eyes, but said nothing in response. Hannah returned to eating her cinnamon roll in silence, smiling. She and the boys were at an outdoor cafe eating breakfast. Sam was at a nearby payphone trying to get information about John Winchester.

Sam walked back over to their table, disappointment plain on his features. Hannah guessed he didn't find out much about his father.

"Your half-caf, double vanilla latte is getting cold over here, Francis," Dean teased, looking up from the laptop.

"Bite me," rejoined Sam as he sat down in his chair next to Hannah.

"So, did you find anything?" Hannah asked, smiling hopefully.

Her smile faltered when Sam shook his head. "I had them check the FBI's Missing Persons Data Bank. No John Doe's fitting Dad's description. I even ran his plates for traffic violations."

"Sam, I'm telling you, I don't think Dad wants to be found," Dean said. He frowned when he noticed the dismay on Sam's face.

"But who's to say that we won't find him?" Hannah told him optimistically. She gestured at Dean to turn the laptop to face Sam. "Check this out."

"It's an article out of _Planes Courier_ from Ankeny, Iowa. It's only about a hundred miles from here," Dean explained, turning the laptop around.

"'The mutilated body was found near the victim's car, parked on 9 Mile Road'," Sam read. He didn't sound terribly interested.

"Keep reading," Dean urged, and Hannah nodded her head encouragingly.

"'Authorities are unable to provide a realistic description of the killer. The sole eyewitness, whose name has been withheld, is quoted as saying the attacker was invisible'," Sam continued, creasing his eyebrows.

"Could be something interesting," Dean said casually.

"Or it could be nothing at all," Sam countered, leaning back in his chair. "One freaked out witness who didn't see anything? Doesn't mean it's the Invisible Man."

"But what if it is?" Hannah asked him.

Dean glanced at her then returned his gaze to Sam. "Dad would have checked it out," was all he said before calling over the waiter and paying for their breakfast.

Sam sighed and followed them out of the cafe and back to the Impala. Hannah offered him a smile which he returned, though his was less enthusiastic. She pulled a brush out of her purse and began brushing and sweeping her hair into a mid-high ponytail as Dean pulled out of his parking spot.

It was quiet for a while, with the exception of the radio playing. Hannah was just about to text her dad when Dean spoke up.

"The victim lived in a fraternity," he informed them.

"Okay," Sam said, shrugging.

"That means _we_ have to stay there—to get more information," Dean elaborated, glancing at his brother.

"Dean, you're twenty-_six_. Don't you think it'll look a little suspicious if you're living in a frat house?" Sam questioned incredulously.

There was an offended expression on Dean's face. "Are you calling me _old_?" he demanded.

Sam looked as if he was suppressing a smile. "I'm just saying that people will wonder why you're deciding to live in a frat house."

"You're not that old," Hannah whispered to Dean.

"Whatever, smartass," replied Dean, disgruntled. "The article also says that Rich was with someone. I'm guessing it was a sorority sister."

Hannah waited for Dean to continue, but he didn't and instead looked at her through the rearview mirror. Realization slowly dawned on her, and Hannah shook her head vehemently.

"Come on, Princess. What's so wrong with living in a house with a bunch of hot young sorority girls?" Dean persisted when he saw the refusal on her face.

"Dean, these are the type of girls I was _afraid _of in high school!" Hannah exclaimed, "Sororities girls are all the popular girls in high school living in one house. They'll eat me alive in there!"

Sam turned in his seat to face Hannah. "Han, I knew a couple sorority girls and they weren't so bad."

"Have you _seen The House on Sorority Row_?" Hannah asked him, her voice threatening to become shrill from how agitated she was becoming.

Dean snorted. "I have," he answered, and there was a hint of lust in his tone. "And how are you more afraid of women your own age than ghosts?"

Hannah crossed her arms in a huff.

"You're not saying anything because I'm right," Dean stated, flashing a smug grin.

He _was _right, but Hannah refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was.

* * *

When she saw the sorority house in the distance, Hannah tried to swallow down her uneasiness. Hannah hoped the girls weren't like anything she experienced in high school, but the fear was still there and it was overwhelming.

The car slowed down, stopping in front of the sorority house. Dean slid out of the driver's seat and Hannah followed him out, waiting for him to unlock the trunk so she could retrieve her duffel bag.

She was about to go, but then Dean grabbed her forearm and pulled her back. His expression shifted into something more serious, and Hannah wondered what he was going to say.

"Let me know if there's a naked pillow fight?" Dean asked, unabashed.

"You're such a pervert," Hannah told him, rolling her eyes. She shrugged off his hand and headed to the sorority house.

There were some girls sitting on the porch reading magazines, one with lustrous black hair and another blonde, her hair resembling spun gold. They were both staring at her, and it took a minute for Hannah to realize that they were appraising her.

The black-haired girl spoke up first. "Can we help you?"

"Yeah, hi, I'm Hannah. I'm your sorority sister from... Ohio. I'm a transfer and looking for a place to stay," Hannah explained, using the lie Dean told her.

"Oh." The blonde blinked then smiled, seeming friendlier. "Hi! I'm Vicky and this is Katie. Let me introduce you to everyone."

Katie still regarded Hannah coldly and returned to reading her magazine as Vicky opened the front door and gestured for Hannah to enter. She did so hesitantly, looking around at the brightly decorated house.

Hannah followed Vicky inside the house, smiling shyly at everyone she introduced to her. They went upstairs where Vicky led her to her room. She barged into a room where a pretty dark-skinned girl with long curly hair and a girl with dark blonde hair were sitting on their respective beds talking.

"Girls, meet our sister from Ohio," Vicky said, uncaring that she interrupted their conversation. "What was your name again?"

"Hannah," she told her once again.

"Lucky for you, we have an extra bed. I'm Taylor by the way," said the curly-haired girl, standing up to greet Hannah. "This is Lori."

Lori smiled wanly and waved, but her face was ashen. Hannah wondered what was wrong with her. She set down her duffel bag in front of her bed while Vicky sat down on the empty bed, making herself comfortable.

"So, _Hannah_, who was that guy who dropped you off here?" Vicky asked.

"What guy? Do we know him?" Taylor questioned eagerly.

"No, but he was hot," Vicky informed her. She smiled slyly at Hannah. "So, is he your boyfriend?"

Hannah's face flushed red. "No, he's not my boyfriend."

"Then is he, like, your friend-with-_benefits_?" Vicky inquired, twirling a lock of hair.

"No."

"Fuck buddy?"

"I've never had a fuck buddy who drives me home!" Taylor whined, falling back on her bed.

"He's not... we aren't like that," Hannah sputtered out.

"Oh." Vicky and Taylor both looked disappointed. "You're probably not his type anyway," Vicky remarked snidely, getting up and leaving the bedroom.

_So, Lori is quiet, Vicky is rude, and Taylor is boy-crazy_, thought Hannah, her face still hot from the embarrassing questions.

"Do you two have boyfriends?" Hannah asked shyly. The smile vanished from Taylor's face and Lori looked away. "Oh, did I say something wrong?"

"No, it's just..." Taylor glanced at Lori who turned back to Hannah.

"It's fine, Taylor. You can tell her," Lori said. She forced a smile, and the queasiness Hannah felt in her stomach returned.

"Lori had a boyfriend. His name was Rich. He, um, died recently," Taylor explained, sorrow coloring her voice.

"Oh. _Oh_. I am so sorry! I didn't—I had no idea," Hannah said, genuinely embarrassed. In the back of her head, she was pleased she found someone who could help with this case, but she still felt guilty for bringing up such painful memories for the poor girl.

Lori gave her a dismissive wave. "I'm not mad. You're new in town, so of course you had no idea," she said then stood. "We're actually headed to church right now. Did you want to come with us?"

"Yeah, sure." Hannah followed the two girls out of the room. She soon learned that Lori was the reverend's daughter on the way to church.

Hannah hadn't been to church since she was baptized at less than six months old. Her dad never forced any sort of religion onto Hannah, but he did teach her different kinds of religion in case she felt like following one. She always loved him for that.

The three of them sat in the front pew in the church. After everyone settled in their seats, service began with Reverend Sorensen speaking above everyone.

"Our hearts go out to the family of a young man who perished. And my personal prayers of thanks go out as well because I believe he died trying to protect my daughter," said Reverend Sorensen.

His daughter swallowed thickly, and Hannah saw pink tinge her cheeks.

"And now, as time heals all our wounds, we should reflect on what this tragedy means. To us, as a church—" The sound of doors slamming interrupted his sermon, sending echoes throughout the entire church. Hannah and the others turned in their seats to see who entered.

Of course, it was Dean and Sam.

They spotted Hannah quickly and Dean winked at her while Sam shrugged sheepishly.

"_Idiots_," Hannah mouthed. She rolled her eyes when Dean made a face at her then pushed Sam into a seat in the back pew.

"As a community, and as a family," the reverend continued. "The loss of a young person is particularly tragic. A life unlived is the saddest of passings. So, please, let us pray. For peace, for guidance, and for the power to protect our children."

She bowed her head and closed her eyes, but her mind was blank. Hannah didn't pray often; she was usually too busy with school or hunting. Hannah tuned out the rest of the sermon until she heard everyone leaving the church.

Taylor looped her arm with Hannah's and grinned. "So, I was thinking we should throw a party for you. We always have these things whenever a new girl joins our sorority. What do you guys say?"

"I can't. It's Sunday night," Lori declined, frowning.

"It's just us girls then. We're going do tequila shots and watch _Reality Bites_," Taylor decided, keen on throwing a party.

"I love that show!" Hannah chirped, sharing a grin with Taylor. "The people on there are so trashy."

"I know _right_?" Taylor turned back to Lori, giving her puppy dog eyes. "See? Hannah wants to party."

"My dad makes dinner every Sunday night," Lori insisted, and Hannah didn't blame her for not being up to partying.

Taylor pouted, but smiled gently at Lori. "Come on, Lori. I know this has been hard, but you are allowed to have fun."

Lori hesitated then sighed. "I'll try," she promised, and Taylor rolled her eyes. They hugged and Taylor was about to go her separate way when she paused and looked back at Hannah.

"Aren't you coming?" she asked.

"Um..." Hannah's gaze drifted to the two idiots approaching them. "I wanted to introduce you guys to my friends. The guys who dropped me off? Yeah, they're brothers of the fraternity nearby."

"Really? They wouldn't be the guys who..." Taylor trailed off, raising her brows when Dean and Sam finally came up to them. "Hey."

"Hey back." Dean let his eyes roam Taylor's figure then flickered to Hannah, smiling lazily at her. "Hannah. Aren't you going to introduce us?"

"Taylor. Lori, these are my friends Sam and Dean. They're brothers."

"We don't want to bother you. We just heard about what happened and..." Sam offered Lori a kind, apologetic smile.

"We wanted to say how sorry we were," Dean told her.

"I kind of know what you're going through." Hannah snapped her attention to Sam, her eyes widening. This was the first time he was opening up about Jessica, and it sounded like he was attempting to keep the emotion from rising in his voice. "I... I saw someone get hurt once... It's something you don't forget."

Lori nodded in understanding. Hannah glanced over them and noticed Reverend Sorensen walking over to them.

"Dad, um, this is my roommate Hannah and her friends Sam and Dean. They're new students," Lori said, her eyes lingering on Sam.

Dean shook the reverend's hand, smiling politely. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. I must say, that was an inspiring sermon."

Hannah guffawed, but passed it off as a cough. Dean shot her a dirty look while Sam smiled at her, amused.

"Thank you very much. It's so nice to find young people who are open to the Lord's message," Reverend Sorensen said, genuinely pleased.

"Listen, uh, we're new in town, actually..." Dean draped his arm over Hannah's shoulders and steered her and Reverend Sorensen away from Sam, Lori, and Taylor. "And, uh, we were looking for a, um, a church group."

She gave Dean a questioning look. He nodded his head slightly, and Hannah turned back to the reverend with a smile.

"Well, you've come to the right place," Reverend Sorensen said, sounding pleasantly surprised.

"You see, Dean wants to become a... um, a born-again-virgin and since we heard your sermon, we thought _you _would be the best person to help," Hannah explained, biting her lip to keep herself from smiling.

Reverend Sorensen looked at Dean, surprised. Dean forced a smile and shrugged helplessly.

"I'm a new man, reverend," he replied.

"Well, we can arrange a meeting to discuss this more in private," Reverend Sorensen said then clapped Dean on the shoulder. "Come by the church sometime soon, and don't be shy, son. I find it honorable that a young man like yourself has decided to make such a pledge for himself."

"You got it, sir." Dean nodded. The moment the reverend disappeared, he dropped his arm off Hannah's shoulders. "Why the hell would you say something like that?"

"Oh, calm down. It's not like you're _really _becoming a born-again-virgin," Hannah remarked, brushing off his annoyance. They went over to where Sam stood alone, Lori having left with Taylor back to the sorority house. "Lori was with Rich when the murder happened, guys."

"Yeah, we found out from one of Rich's pals back at the frat house," Sam told her. "We should head to the library; see if we can find anything to help with this job."

Hannah brightened when she heard him say 'library'. She ignored the groan Dean released and followed the boys back to the Impala. Sam explained to them what Lori told him as they drove there.

"So you believe her?" Dean asked as they entered the library.

"I do." Sam nodded, solemn.

"Yeah, I think she's hot too," Dean commented. Hannah refrained from rolling her eyes.

"No, man, there's something in her eyes," Sam murmured, looking at them. "And listen to this: she heard scratching on the roof. Found the bloody body suspended upside down over the car."

"Wait, the body suspended?" Dean asked, frowning. "That sounds like the—"

"Yeah, I know, the Hook Man legend," Sam interjected.

"That's one of the most famous urban legends ever. You don't think that we're dealing with the Hook Man, do you?" Hannah questioned, glancing back and forth at them.

Sam shrugged. "Every urban legend has a source. A place where it all began."

It made sense the more Hannah thought about it. She just never thought the Hook Man legend would be true, but then again, she didn't think the Bloody Mary legend had been real as well.

"Yeah, but what about the phantom scratches and the tire punctures and the invisible killer?" Dean asked them.

"What if the Hook Man isn't a man, and maybe just some kind of spirit?" Hannah suggested, almost confidently.

"You took the words right out of my mouth," Sam said, smiling. He turned to Dean, his smile broadening. "Time for your favorite part: research."

Dean groaned again.

* * *

Hannah looked up when a box slammed down on the table in front of her and the boys. The librarian placed a couple more boxes in front of them.

"Here you go. Arrest records going back to 1851," said the librarian.

"Thank you," Hannah said, smiling politely.

Dean blew some dust off the books at the top of the box, coughing when he inhaled some of it. Hannah looked down at her lap giggling.

"So," Dean started, grabbing a few books and passing them to Hannah and Sam. "This is how you two spent four good years of your lives, huh?"

"Welcome to higher learning," Sam deadpanned, opening the book Dean handed to him.

For the next three hours, they read each the numerous books the librarian found for them. While Hannah didn't mean to, she felt her focus slowly drain and center on Dean instead. As much as he despised research, Hannah could see how good he was at it. His eyes never strayed from what he was reading.

She looked down, focusing on own research once she realized how long she had been staring at him.

"Hey, check this out," Sam called ten minutes later. Hannah and Dean leaned over to read what Sam found. "1862, a preacher named Jacob Karns was arrested for murder."

"Looks like he was so angry over the red light district in town that one night he killed thirteen prostitutes," Hannah noted after reading a passage from the book.

"Right here, 'some of the deceased were found in their bed, sheets soaked with blood. Others suspended upside down from the limbs of trees as a warning against sins of the flesh'," read Sam.

Dean flipped a page then pointed to another passage. "Get this, the murder weapon? Looks like the preacher lost his hand in an accident. Had it replaced with a silver hook."

"Look where all this happened," Hannah said, her eyes widening slightly as she continued reading the page.

"Nine Mile Road," Dean realized, looking up.

"Same place where the frat boy was killed," Sam deduced.

Dean stood, grinning at the both of them. "Nice job, Dr. Venkmen. Let's check it out."

She and Sam gathered the rest of the research, checked them out, and then headed outside to the Impala. The drive wasn't too long since this was a small town. Hannah fingered the thin silver chain around her neck as they reached their destination, her apprehension rising a little.

Spirits were the easiest to deal with compared to demons and shapeshifters. Still, Hannah always felt like something could go wrong during their hunts. She usually worried about what would happen if Dean or Sam got hurt.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked her, noticing her silence.

"I'm fine," Hannah answered with a smile. "Now move."

He slid out of the driver's seat and Hannah climbed out after him. It was completely dark outside, but thankfully Sam had a flashlight. Hannah tried not to miss her footing as she went over to where Dean was. He opened the trunk and pulled out two shotguns, handing them to Sam and Hannah before grabbing one for himself.

"If it's a spirit, buckshot won't do much good," Sam remarked.

"It's rock salt, Sam," Hannah said, glancing at Dean. She knew he wasn't stupid enough to use buckshot while dealing with a spirit. Did Sam forget some things during his time off as a hunter?

"Huh. Salt being a spirit deterrent," Sam murmured, impressed.

"Yeah. It won't kill them." Dean slammed the trunk shut after grabbing a coil of rope. "But it'll slow them down."

"That's pretty good. You guys and Dad think of this?"

"I told you. You don't have to be a college graduate to be a genius."

They explored the area for a while, pointing their flashlight around in case the spirit was hiding in the darkness. Hannah paused when she heard a twig snap. There was a rustle in the undergrowth behind them, and Sam raised his shotgun.

Dean gestured over to the undergrowth, and Hannah could hear Sam cock the shotgun. She held her breath when someone emerged from behind the trees then widened her eyes when it was just a police officer.

"Put the gun down now! Now!" shouted the officer. Hannah exhaled the breath she'd been holding, partly relieved and partly annoyed. "Put your hands behind your head!"

Hannah dropped her shotgun and followed the officer's orders.

"Wait, wait! Okay, okay!" Dean yelled, seeming more annoyed than Hannah.

"Now get down on your knees. Come on, do it! On your knees!" Hannah, Dean, and Sam reluctantly dropped to their knees. She closed her eyes, trying to soothe her nerves, but the officer screaming at them did nothing to help stop her heart from hammering inside her chest.

"Now get down on your bellies. Come on, do it!" commanded the officer.

"But, officer, my sweater will get dirty!" Hannah cried out, glancing down at her pale mauve sweater.

The officer ignored her and Hannah whimpered as she forced herself to get on the ground. She heard Dean grumble next to her, "_He_ pointed the gun."

She felt the officer confiscate their shotguns before someone else clasp handcuffs around her and the boys' wrists. Hannah would have started bawling if the other officer hadn't hauled her up and shoved her in the backseat of the police car, sandwiching her between Dean and Sam.

_Stop being such a big baby_, Hannah told herself. She took a couple deep breaths before letting her head hit the back of the hard seat.

"Listen," Dean muttered, and Hannah rolled her eyes to him. "Don't say anything. Let me do all the talking."

"Yeah, cause having you talk to authority always works out for us," hissed Sam. He shifted next to Hannah and tilted his head to look out the window.

"I blame you for ruining my sweater," Hannah said, glaring at Dean.

"Then don't wear sweaters like that out on hunts!" Dean exclaimed.

"Shut up back there!" snapped the officer driving.

They remained silent for the rest of the drive back to the police station. Hannah wet her lips, noticing how chapped they were. If only her wrists weren't handcuffed, then she'd grab her lip balm from the pocket of her jeans. When they were led inside the station, Hannah realized that it was the _sheriff_ who had caught them at Nine Mile Road. _Crap_, she thought, hoping they weren't in huge trouble, or worse: arrested.

Dean looked at her as he was being led to a different room, his expression clearly reminding her not to say anything. Hannah gave a subtle nod of her head, and put up no fight as she was brought into another room. The officer seemed frustrated that Hannah wouldn't answer his questions, but thankfully another officer came in and murmured something in the man's ear.

"You're free to go," the officer announced as he uncuffed Hannah's wrists.

"Don't worry, officer, we won't do that again," Hannah told him then rushed out of the room where she saw Sam waiting for her. "Where's Dean?"

Sam jutted his thumb out to where Dean was. Hannah whirled and rolled her eyes when she saw that he was flirting with the receptionist. She strode over to him, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him out of the police station.

"Hey, hey, hey! I was just talking to the woman! Jeez," Dean grumbled, pulling his arm free from Hannah's grasp.

"What did you say?" Sam asked, mildly annoyed.

"I saved your asses!" Dean exclaimed, grinning at them. "Talked the sheriff down to a fine. Dude, I am Matlock."

"How?" Sam questioned. Hannah watched Dean walk with an air of heightened arrogance. He could be such an idiot sometimes.

"I told him you were a dumbass pledge and that we were hazing you," Dean laughed.

"What about the shotgun? What about Hannah?" Sam demanded as they approached the Impala.

"I said that you were hunting ghosts and the spirits were repelled by rock salt. You know, typical Hell Week prank," Dean replied, twirling the keys around his index and middle finger.

"And he believed you?" Hannah asked, incredulous.

"Well, Sam looks like a dumbass pledge," Dean scoffed, oblivious to the glare Sam was sending him. "And I told the sheriff that you were there because you... uh..."

"What?" Hannah urged, curious as know how Dean got her out of trouble as well.

Dean smirked and made an obscene gesture with his fist and mouth. Hannah gasped and slapped his arm.

"Why would you say something like that?" she demanded.

"Pay back for telling the reverend that I'm a born-again-virgin," Dean replied, still smirking.

Hannah opened her mouth, about to berate him for embarrassing her when the doors to the police station burst open and several officers rushed out of the building, all running towards various police cars. She exchanged a worried glance with Dean and Sam before hurrying to the Impala.

* * *

The sorority house was the crime scene as they drove by it. Hannah touched Dean's shoulder and he slowed down the Impala until they were parked in front of the sorority house. Sam got out, letting Hannah climb out.

"Meet us in Lori's room when you're done talking to her," Sam instructed. Hannah nodded, watching them drive off.

Hannah strode over to Lori where sat on the back of a parked ambulance truck, swathed in a blanket. She looked traumatized, but Hannah couldn't blame her. She witnessed her boyfriend getting murdered and now her friend.

Lori looked up when she noticed Hannah coming towards her. "Where were you?" she asked Hannah.

"I was at the library studying with Dean and Sam," Hannah explained then frowned. "Lori, what happened?"

"Taylor, she..." Lori paused, choking back a sob. "Oh God, Hannah, there was blood _everywhere_."

"I'm so sorry." Hannah wrapped her arms around Lori, rubbing her back gently as she sobbed into her shoulder. "Are they letting anyone inside?"

"I don't think so," Lori sniffled, lifting her face from Hannah's shoulder. "Why do you ask?"

"I need my things," Hannah said. She stepped back and headed to the entrance of the sorority house.

"But our room is a crime scene!" Lori called after her, but Hannah paid no mind to the warning.

She was about to open the door, but an officer blocked her from entering. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I need my things. They're in the room where Taylor was killed," Hannah explained, distracted. She wondered if the guys had gotten inside yet, and hoped that they wouldn't get caught if they were. "Please, officer? I haven't even unpacked my bag. Just let me run in and get it."

The officer hesitated then sighed and stepped aside to let her in. Hannah flashed him a smile and ran inside then up the stairs. She managed to dodge a few officers on the way to her room where Hannah waited until the sheriff stepped out of the room where she snuck in. She heard grunting and someone falling in the walk-in closet.

"Be quiet," hissed Sam.

"_You _be quiet!" Dean hissed back.

"_Both_ of you be quiet!" Hannah admonished as she quietly shut the door behind her. The boys emerged from the closet, both glaring at her. She ignored them, looking around. "Look."

"'Aren't you glad you didn't turn on the light?'" Sam read aloud. "That's right out of the legend."

"Yeah, that's classic Hook Man all right," Dean agreed, going over to the window.

"What is that smell?" Hannah asked, sniffing the air.

"Ozone," answered Dean, glancing back at her. "Means there's a spirit nearby."

She nodded, continuing to look around until she spotted a cross underneath the bloody words. She studied it for a moment before nudging Sam and gesturing to the cross. His eyes narrowed at it then he seemed to understand as well.

"Hey, Dean," Hannah said, still studying the cross. "Does this look familiar to you?"

Dean went over to the foot of another bed and picked up a familiar duffel bag. "We should get out of here before the cops find us."

"Don't think you'll be able to talk the sheriff down to a fine then," Sam said jokingly.

Hannah laughed lightly, while Dean rolled his eyes. She bounded over to the window and carefully slipped out first. Making sure she wasn't seen by the cops patrolling the front of the sorority house, Hannah climbed down and landed on the ground a bit ungracefully.

Sam poked his head out the window, and Hannah motioned for him to come out. He slung the thick strap of her duffel bag over his broad shoulder before climbing out the window and jumping down, stumbling towards her when he landed.

They waited for Dean to meet them then left the scene swiftly. The Impala was parked nearby when they approached it where Dean unlocked the trunk so Hannah could place her duffel bag in there. She rifled through the box they had checked out from the library and found a page where the cross they just saw was drawn on it.

The three of them sat on the hood of the Impala, Hannah sandwiched between them as they studied the drawing.

"It's the same symbol," stated Sam, "Seems like it's the spirit of Jacob Karns."

"Alright, let's find the dude's grave, salt and burn the bones, and put him down," Dean decided, looking at her and Sam.

"'After execution, Jacob Karns was laid to rest in an Old North Cemetery... in an unmarked cemetery'," Hannah read then lowered the paper, certain that Sam and Dean were just as annoyed as she was.

She was right.

"Super," Dean sighed, resigned.

"Ok. So we know it's Jacob Karns, but we still don't know where he'll manifest next," Hannah said, trying to gather answers.

"Or why," Sam added.

"I'll take a wild guess about why," drawled Dean. He pushed himself off the car and went over to the driver's door. "I think your little friend Lori has something to do with this."

Sam and Hannah glanced at each other before getting off the hood and hopping inside the Impala.

* * *

While they normally did their research at the library, Sam had suggested they head back to the frat house so he could study the cross more on his laptop. Hannah readily agreed because she needed a shower and the sorority house was still a crime scene. Dean only agreed because he remembered that there was a party happening at the frat house.

As soon as she entered the frat house, it was as if everything came to a halt. Two guys lifting a couch froze, another two by the DJ set paused, and the rest just gawked at her. Hannah felt like an animal at the zoo with all these eyes on her. She couldn't have been _that _interesting to look at.

"Hi there," greeted a dark-haired boy.

"Hi," Hannah said, smiling politely. "You guys are having a party here, right?"

"Yeah, but you're a little early," replied another boy, this one with honey blonde locks.

"She's with us," Dean said, tugging on Hannah's ponytail. "Come on."

Hannah waved at all the boys who all grinned at her. She hurried upstairs, hiding her blush. _How embarrassing_, Hannah thought, covering her pink cheeks with her hands. It was still strange whenever a guy approached her and used a pickup line on her.

Sam guided her to the bathroom and offered her a sheepish smile when he noticed the distraught look on her face.

"Yeah, sorry about the bathroom," he apologized.

"I guess I shouldn't have expected less," Hannah said, giggling at the contrite look on Sam's face. "I'll help you with your 'homework' when I'm finished."

He nodded and dropped her duffel bag to the ground before going to the room he was sharing with Dean and another fraternity brother. Hannah looked around at the messy bathroom and sighed. She was glad Dean and Sam weren't messy to _this _extreme.

Shutting the door, Hannah peeled off her dirt-stained clothes and stepped into the shower after grabbing a clean washcloth from her duffel bag. Thirty minutes later, Hannah stepped out of the shower feeling fresh and clean. She blinked when she realized she didn't have a towel.

"Crap," she muttered, shivering. Opening the door ajar, she poked her head out, but made sure her naked body was out of sight. "Sam! Dean! Could one of you bring me a towel!"

There was a clamoring downstairs, and Hannah's face warmed. She sighed in relief when she saw Sam walking towards her with a dark green towel in his hand. He turned away as he handed it to her, and Hannah thanked him profusely before slamming the door behind her.

After toweling herself dry, Hannah gathered her dirty clothes in one arm and lifting her duffel bag with the other. She struggled to open the door without dropping she reached the room, Sam was on his laptop while Dean was sprawled out on his temporary bed. She put her things near Sam and Dean's duffel bags and went over to Dean.

"Hey, mind getting us something to eat?" Hannah suggested as she sat down on the edge of his bed.

"Let me guess—strawberry milkshake for you and a salad for geek boy over there?" Dean said, removing the arm that was slung over his eyes.

"Can you just go?" Hannah frowned at him.

Dean rolled off the bed and swaggered out of the room, but not without poking Hannah and ruffling Sam's hair. Sam swatted at his brother as he left, and Hannah suppressed a smile. He could be so annoying, but Hannah couldn't imagine _not_ having this man-child in her life.

Hannah stood and peered over Sam's shoulder at the laptop. "So, what have you gotten so far?"

* * *

By the time Sam and Hannah finished their research, the party the frat boys were throwing had started. Hannah slipped on her tall riding boots and denim jacket before following Sam downstairs where they suddenly in the midst of the party.

There was an uncomfortable look on Sam's face, and Hannah tried to mask her own apprehension with a cheery smile. Some of the frat boys from earlier had come up to her and flirted with her, but Hannah declined each one. She was too focused on this hunt to hook up with anyone. Dean seemed to fit in with this party scene, smiling and winking at a girl passing by as he approached them.

"Man, you guys have been holding out on me. This college thing is awesome!" Dean exclaimed, looking around at the scantily-clad girls and guys playing beer pong.

"This wasn't really my experience," admitted Sam.

"Let me guess. Libraries, studying, straight A's?" Dean said, staring at his brother in disbelief. He scoffed when Sam merely nodded in response. "What a geek. Alright, did you guys do your homework?"

"Yeah. It was bugging me, right? So how is the Hook Man tied up with Lori?" Sam started as the three of them began walking out of the living room. "So, we came up with something."

Hannah unraveled a piece of paper and handed it to Dean. His eyes scanned it as he read aloud. "1932. Clergyman arrested for murder. 1967. Seminarian held in hippie rampage."

"There's a pattern here," Hannah continued, "in both cases, the suspect was a man of religion who openly preached against immorality. And then found himself wanted for killings he claimed were the work of an invisible force."

"Killings carried out—get this—with a sharp instrument," Sam added, his eyes glinting. Hannah noticed that Sam got rather excited when he discovered something new during their hunts.

"What's the connection to Lori?" Dean questioned, puzzled.

"A man of religion? Who openly preaches against immorality?" Hannah stressed, hoping he would understand. He did, and Hannah grinned.

"Except maybe this time, instead of saving the whole town, he's just trying to save his only daughter," Sam said.

"Reverend Sorensen," Dean realized. The corners of his mouth lifted like he wanted to smile when he saw Hannah's grin, but he didn't. "You guys think he's summoning the spirit?"

"He could be," Hannah agreed, crossing her arms. "_Or_ it could be a poltergeist. You know how poltergeists can haunt a person instead of a place?"

"Yeah, the spirit latches onto the reverend's repressed emotions, feeds off them, yeah, okay," Dean said, willing to go with that.

"Without the reverend even knowing it," Sam said, thoughtful. It was a quiet for a moment, with the exception of the loud music blaring around them.

"Either way, you should keep an eye on Lori tonight," Dean told Sam. Hannah silently agreed, knowing from the way Lori looked at Sam, she wouldn't mind some male company.

"What about you two?" Sam asked.

Dean looked across the room, and Hannah followed his gaze. A blonde girl holding a cue stick near the pool table smiled invitingly at Dean. She could see the reluctance to leave on Dean's face, but his dalliance could wait.

"_We're_ going to find that unmarked grave. Right, Dean?" Hannah answered for the both of them.

"Yeah, right." Dean shook his head in disappointment and allowed himself to be led out of the house. He didn't say anything else until they were nearby the cemetery. "So, Hannah, were you like Sam and didn't go to ragers like that?"

Hannah looked at him in surprise from the passenger seat. "I went to _one_ party, but I hardly remember it."

It was Dean's turn to look surprised. "_You_ got wasted?"

"My friends insisted I experience the 'other side' of college since I was usually studying," Hannah explained, a little embarrassed.

"I would love to see you drunk," Dean commented as he parked the Impala outside of the cemetery.

"_Why_?" Hannah questioned, bewildered by his interest.

"I dunno." Dean shrugged, unbuckling his seatbelt. "You're always so uptight. I just want to see you get loose."

"I can be loose," Hannah said defensively. "I'm loosey-goosey. I'm cool as a cucumber."

He regarded her with an amused look before snorting and stepping out of the driver's seat. Hannah slid out, ready to prove her point that she was "loose" but Dean thrusted a shovel into her arms, the force making her stumble backwards.

"Ever dig a grave?" Dean asked, his grin bordering on insolence.

Hannah smiled, broadening into a grin when Dean's own grin faltered.

"Nope, but I will tonight!" she replied cheerfully. "Let's get this done before Mr. Hook Man, uh, hooks another person."

"Nice pun," chortled Dean.

The gates to the cemetery were locked, so she and Dean were forced to climb them. Picking up the shovel and flashlight she had thrown over the gates, Hannah walked alongside Dean as they searched for the unmarked grave.

They explored the cemetery for about twenty minutes, and Hannah half expected a raven to appear and croon, "_Nevermore_." Luckily for them, Dean spotted the exact grave they were searching for, complete with a cross engraved on the headstone. The same cross they recognized on the wall of Lori and Taylor's room.

Hannah shrugged off her denim jacket and draped it over a headstone nearby. She stretched her arms before she started digging the grave with Dean. It took them almost thirty-five minutes of digging until their shovels finally hit the wooden floor of the grave. Dean straightened, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

She waited for him to break the wooden coffin, but he didn't. Instead, he looked distracted and he seemed to be staring at Hannah strangely.

"What?" she asked him. "What's wrong?"

"Huh?" Dean blinked out of his daze. "Nothing's wrong, your... never mind."

She creased his brows, confused by his response, but didn't linger on it and gestured to the coffin. Dean remembered what they were doing and plunged the shovel into the wooden coffin, breaking it slightly. He did it a few more times before it finally broke. Hannah shone the light of her flashlight over the grave, relieved to see the preacher's remains.

"Hello, preacher," Dean mumbled, tossing his shovel aside. Hannah dropped hers and unzipped the duffel bag Dean had brought.

While Dean poured the carton of salt over the bones, Hannah poured the lighter fluid over it. Dean lit a match and was about to toss it in the grave when he paused and looked at Hannah.

"Would you like to do the honors?" he asked, giving her a lazy smile.

"Sure." Hannah accepted the match and tossed it in the grave, taking a small step back when the bones burst into flames.

"Goodbye, preacher," Dean said then picked up his jacket, shovel, and duffel bag off the ground. "What now, Princess?"

Hannah tilted her head, thoughtful then punched Dean's arm playfully. "We see if that party is still going on."

Dean grinned.

The party _was_ still going on when they returned to the frat house. Some people gave her and Dean suggestive looks after seeing how sweaty and dirty they were. _You guys have it all wrong,_ Hannah thought, blushing.

People were mostly drinking and making out in dark corners of the house. Dean looked thoroughly disappointed when the blonde from earlier was gone, but it didn't last too long as he made his way to the pool table to play a game himself.

"Anyone want to play?" he asked loudly, but no one seemed to hear him.

"I'll play you," Hannah offered, grabbing one of the cue sticks that were leaning against the pool table.

"Oh yeah. I remember teaching you how to play," Dean said as he set the game up. "How old were you again?"

"You taught me when I was seventeen," Hannah remembered, smiling fondly. It disappeared the more she remembered it. "Oh God, you taught me at a _biker_ bar."

"Are you _sure_ it was at a biker bar?"

"Dean, I'm positive it was at a biker bar. I can't remember the last time I was so terrified."

"Why? If I was there, there was nothing to worry about."

Hannah scowled at him. "I was underage! All those men kept looking at me like I was a piece of meat! _And_ there was a man with biceps bigger than your head!"

Dean laughed and started the game. They played for a while then went upstairs to Dean's room. Hannah took off her boots and collapsed on Sam's bed. She was so tired and this bed was softer than the motel ones.

It felt like only a few minutes passed when she was being shaken awake.

"Wha...?" Hannah sat up suddenly, eyes wide, hair tousled. "Huh?" She blinked a few times as her eyes focused on Dean.

"I just got a call from Sam. Lori's dad is in the hospital," Dean told her, frowning.

"What time is it?" Hannah asked instead.

"Five minutes to eight," he replied then moved to the other side of the room. "Come on."

Hannah pushed herself off Sam's bed and sluggishly put on her boots. When they went downstairs, Hannah widened her eyes at how trashed the place was. There was even a guy knocked out on one of the couches.

"Did he tell you what happened?" Hannah inquired as they hurried over to the Impala.

"No, but he sounded startled," Dean answered, unlocking the car.

"Could it be the Hook Man?"

"There's no way. We salted and burned those bones."

Dean was right, she supposed. It couldn't be the Hook Man. She remembered clearly digging up Jacob Karns' grave and salting and burning his remains. If it _was_ him, though... Hannah tried to figure out how this spirit could possibly still be haunting the reverend.

They managed to figure out which floor Sam and Lori were on after seeing police patrolling the lobby. Hannah wheedled the information out of one of the cops who then accompanied them to the elevator where he and another officer walked them to the reverend's room.

"We're with him," Hannah told the two officers, gesturing to Sam who was standing outside the reverend's room talking to the sheriff.

"He's our brother," Dean added, half lying. He waved at Sam. "Hey! Brother!"

"Let them through," commanded the sheriff.

"Thanks," Hannah told the officers, flashing a smile before running over to Sam. "Are you okay? Did you get hurt?"

"I'm fine, Hannah," Sam said, uncaring that Hannah was checking his face for injuries. She rolled up the sleeves to his hoodie, making sure he didn't have any scratches on him arms.

"What the hell happened?" Dean demanded.

Sam glanced behind him then leaned towards them and said in a hushed voice, "Hook Man."

"What!"

"You saw him?"

"Damn right," Sam answered before glaring at them. "Why didn't you guys torch the bones?"

"What are you talking about? We _did_," Dean replied snappishly.

"Are you _sure_ it's the spirit of Jacob Karns?" Hannah asked, cutting in before Dean and Sam could quarrel.

"It sure as hell looked like him, and that's not all." Sam glanced behind him again, and Hannah realized he was looking back at Lori in the hospital room. "I don't think the spirit is latching on to the reverend."

"Well, yeah, the guy wouldn't send the Hook Man after himself," Dean said, somewhat derisively.

"I think it's latching onto Lori. Last night she found out her father is having an affair with a married woman," Sam revealed. Hannah widened her eyes from this new information, and her head began to swim as she calculated different theories.

"So what?" Dean said, shrugging.

"_So _she's upset about it," Hannah told him. "She's upset over the _immortality_ of it. Don't you get it?"

"She told me she was raised to believe that if you do something wrong, you get punished," Sam added.

Dean nodded and said, "Ok, so she's conflicted, and the spirit of Preacher Karns is latching on to repress the emotions and maybe he's doing the punishing for her, huh?"

"Yes!" Hannah exclaimed, proud that he finally understood. She knew Dean wasn't dumb, just that he didn't piece things together as quick as she and Sam.

"Right." Sam gave her an amused look. "Rich comes on too strong, Taylor tries to make her into a party girl, Dad has an affair."

"Remind me not to piss this girl off," Dean remarked offhandedly. "But we _burned_ those bones, we _buried_ them in salt. Why didn't that stop him?"

"You guys must have missed something," Sam replied, unsure.

"No." Dean shook his head, but Hannah thought about what they possibly could have missed. "We burned everything in that—"

"The hook!" Hannah grabbed Dean's arm, startling him. "We didn't get the hook, Dean."

"So, like the bones, the hook is a source of his power," Dean realized, looking up at his brother.

"So if we find the hook..." Sam trailed off.

"We stop the Hook Man," he and Dean finished. They shared a smile.

"Wait, does that mean...?" Dean started to ask then groaned.

"Yup. It means we hit the library," Hannah answered for him. "Oh, don't give me that look, Dean. Researching isn't _that_ bad."

"Speak for yourself," he muttered. "Let's just get this over with."

"That's the spirit!" Hannah grinned. She heard Sam laugh behind her as she and Dean led the way out of the hospital.

* * *

"Here's something, I think," Dean spoke up. He was fiddling with his pencil when Hannah lifted her head, having been reading through several passages of the different books they found in the library. "Logbook, Iowa State Penitentiary. 'Karns, Jacob. Personal affects: disposition thereof'."

"Does it mention the hook?" Sam asked. Hannah leaned forward in her chair so she could see Dean. She sat on Sam's left at the table while Dean was on his right.

"Yeah, maybe." Dean skimmed the page before reading it aloud. "'Upon execution, all earthly items shall be remanded to the prisoner's house of worship, St. Barnabas Church'."

She creased her eyebrows. "Isn't that where Lori's father preaches? Where Lori lives?"

"Yeah." Dean nodded, while Sam frowned. "Maybe that's why the Hook Man has been haunting reverends and reverends' daughters for the past 200 years."

"Yeah, but if the hook were at the church or Lori's house, don't you think someone might've seen it?" Sam questioned, glancing at Dean and Hannah. "I mean, a bloodstained, silver-handled hook?"

"I'll go check the church records," Hannah decided, standing up. She went over to the desk where the librarian was and asked for the church records. The librarian sighed, but got up and went to fetch the records for Hannah.

Twenty minutes later, the librarian walked up to their table with a relatively old looking record book. Hannah rifled through the records until she found something related to what they were researching.

"'St. Barnabas donations, 1862. Received silver-handled hook from state penitentiary'," Hannah read then frowned. "Oh, this is going to suck."

"What?" Sam and Dean both asked.

"They melted it down and made it into something else," Hannah answered, looking up from the records.

"Alright, we can't take any chances," Dean said, closing the book in front of him. "Anything silver goes in the fire."

"I agree. Lori's still at the hospital. We'll have to break in," Sam told them as he started to put everything away. Hannah helped him and the three left the library. They stopped by the frat house to retrieve their duffel bags before heading to the church.

It was a short drive to St. Barnabas Church, and the sun was low in the sky when they arrived. Hannah was familiar with breaking into houses; it was one of the first things she learned as a hunter; but breaking into a _church_ seemed sinful.

_Oh well, it's for a good cause_, Hannah thought as she climbed out of the backseat. She accepted the pistol Dean handed to her, tucking it in the inside pocket of her jean jacket.

"Alright, take your pick," Dean said to Sam.

"I'll take the house," Sam decided.

"Where should I go?" Hannah asked, glancing at them.

"You're with me," Dean told her. "Hey, Sam." Sam paused on his way to the Sorensens' house. "Stay out of the underwear drawer."

Sam gave him a blank look, but said nothing as he turned away and kept walking towards the house. Hannah rolled her eyes and followed Dean inside the church. He could be so immature at times.

After breaking into the church, she and Dean grabbed anything that looked remotely silver and carried it downstairs to the basement. Dean opened the door where the fire was being contained and they tossed everything in there. About ten minutes later, Sam found them with a bag of silver.

"I got everything that even _looked_ silver," Sam said as he tossed some jewelry into the fire.

"Better safe than sorry," Hannah remarked, helping him.

There were footsteps coming from upstairs. She looked at them, and Dean motioned for her and Sam to follow him upstairs. Despite the church being dimly lit, Hannah could see someone sitting in a pew alone. She realized it was Lori after recognizing her sobbing. Dean lowered his gun and Sam walked over to Lori.

"I'll guard. Just in case the Hook Man comes," Hannah whispered to Dean. He nodded and headed back downstairs.

She half listened to Sam and Lori's conversation, her frown deepening the more she heard Lori's guilt. Hannah touched the handle of her pistol when she heard a noise. She hurried over to where Sam and Lori were the louder the noise became.

"Sam—" Hannah gasped sharply when the flames in the candles went out. She pulled out her pistol and cocked it.

"We need to get to the basement," Sam said. He gestured for her and Lori to follow him.

Sam opened the door leading down to the basement and a hook suddenly lunged through the door. Lori screamed behind them and Sam yelled at them to run back. Hannah flinched each time the Hook Man smashed something with his hook.

The Hook Man materialized in the back room they retreated to and swung at Sam. Hannah dropped her gun and shoved Sam out of the way just as the hook was about to sink itself in his shoulder. It instead stabbed her in her left shoulder. The Hook Man disappeared, but he dragged Lori on her back across the floor.

"Hannah!" Sam shouted when Hannah stopped screaming. She clutched her shoulder, her whole body trembling from the pain and the feel of blood seeping out of her wound.

"Go to Lori!" Hannah cried. He nodded and ran over to Lori, asking if she was okay.

Hannah was about to go over to them, but an invisible force knocked Sam backwards into a wall. She widened her eyes when she saw Sam get up and maneuvered himself behind the Hook Man.

"Sam!" shouted another voice. Hannah whirled and saw Dean with his shotgun raised. "Drop!"

Sam crouched and Dean shot at the Hook Man once. He disappeared into dust. Dean jogged over to them, his eyes widening when he saw Hannah's shoulder.

"I thought we got all the silver," Hannah panted then winced. It pained her to move her shoulder.

"Well, we obviously didn't," Dean snapped, eyeing her shoulder.

"We must have missed something," Sam said, stating the obvious.

They all looked around, wondering if they missed something silver in this room. Sam turned to Lori and his eyes fell to her chest. Hannah almost scoffed, but then she noticed what he was staring at.

"Lori, where did you get that chain?" Sam questioned, still breathing heavily.

"My father gave it to me."

"Where'd your dad get it?"

"He said it was a church heirloom, he gave it to me when I started school."

"Is it silver?"

_"Yes!"_

Sam ripped the chain off from around Lori's neck. Hannah froze when she heard a long scratch coming from the hallway. The Hook Man was invisible now and was scratching the wall. He tossed the chain to Dean who in return tossed him the shotgun before running to the basement.

Hannah crawled backwards to where Lori sat, still clutching her bloodied shoulder. Sam shot blindly at the wall, but the Hook Man still scratched the wall with his hook. Lori was shaking next to her, fear plain on her face.

The Hook Man appeared and knocked the shotgun out of Sam's hands. He dodged an incoming swipe of his hook, and crawled over to where Hannah and Lori sat. Hannah's jaw clenched, hating that she couldn't do anything as well as the pain in her shoulder.

He raised his hook and Hannah moved so she covered Lori. She waited for the hook to make contact, but it didn't. She looked up, and saw that the raised hook was melting while the rest of his form burned into nothing.

"It's gone," Lori whispered in amazement.

"Here." Sam helped Hannah stand. "Hannah, I don't... I don't know what to say."

"A thank you would suffice," she told him primly. Sam chuckled, and he looked up the same time she did when they heard someone walked over to them. It was Dean, panting from running around.

"Are you okay?" he asked her.

"I will be as soon as the paramedics look at me," Hannah replied with a tired smile.

The paramedics and police arrived twenty minutes later. The police were questioning Sam, Dean, and Lori nearby while a paramedic fixed up her shoulder. Hannah thanked the paramedic who helped her and trudged over to the Impala where Dean leaned against the passenger door.

She leaned against the car, their arms touching. Dean looked down at the bandage.

"I'm fine, you know," Hannah said, crossing her arms and looking up at him.

"Sam told me what happened. Are you crazy?" Dean questioned, tilting his body so he'd face her.

"He was about to get hooked," Hannah said, shrugging. "He's like my brother. I have his back just like you have his."

Dean regarded her with an unreadable expression on his face. Before he could say anything, Sam came over to them.

"You sit in the front, Han," Sam said then smiled softly. "Thanks again."

"Anytime—well, hopefully not _anytime_," Hannah replied. She shared a smile with Sam who then went in the backseat. Hannah slid into the passenger seat and as she buckled her seatbelt, she noticed Lori through the side view mirror.

"We could stay," Dean offered, noticing the sad look on Lori's face as well. Sam shook his head in response. "Hey, Princess, did you get to see a naked pillow fight at the sorority house?"

"No! I was at the library the whole time, _remember_?" Hannah reminded him. She turned around in her seat to look at Sam, hoping to wipe the disappointed look off his face. "Sam, are you aware that your brother likes to teach underage girls how to play pool at _biker_ bars?"

"No." There was an amused look on Sam's face. "Mind elaborating, Dean?"

The rest of the drive out of Ankeny, Iowa was spent in laughter and rock music.


	8. Bugs

**A/N: **Thank you _wideawakepastmidnight_, _RebornRose1992_, _bjq_, _Evangeline Smithson_, _tove_, _stoxy99_, _Jenna_, and some guests for the lovely reviews. I appreciate all your support.

Please enjoy and review this chapter! Also, happy holidays to everyone!

**8.**

**Bugs**

Setting down the last hundred dollar bill, Hannah frowned as she stared at the money laid out in front of her. Maybe she counted wrong, they couldn't have had that little amount of money. She counted again and was disappointed to learn that she had counted correctly.

"We're running low on cash," announced Hannah. "I have some money on my debit card, but I'm not sure how long it'll last us..."

"Then we better hit the nearest bar," replied Dean. He was lounging in a chair by the desk in their motel room, tilting it back on two legs.

Hannah creased her eyebrows, confused by his response. She looked at Sam who sat next to her on the bed, hoping he could elaborate. Sam looked up from his laptop and gave Dean a withering look. He turned back to Hannah, sighing.

"He means we hustle money," Sam explained to her. "Which we don't _have_ to do."

Dean rolled his eyes before smiling at Hannah. "What do you say, Princess? You up for a fun night?"

She chewed her lower lip, contemplating whether to entertain Dean's idea of 'fun'. His idea of a 'fun night' was hanging out at rough dive bars with bikers and scantily-clad girls. Hannah felt uncomfortable going out to a bar to hustle money, especially with _Dean_ of all people. He'd probably desert her in favor of a girl dressed in leather and leave Hannah stranded with the drunk men there.

He seemed to notice her reluctance. "It ain't all that bad," Dean said, getting up from his chair. "I thought you were all 'loosey-goosey'?"

"I am!" Hannah exclaimed. "I'm always up for a fun night!"

Alright then!" Dean grinned, and Hannah faltered. He reached out to tousle her hair, but she shoved him away. He headed to the bathroom and he said, "Wear something slutty."

"I don't _own_ anything slutty," Hannah said, unsure if she should be offended.

"Whatever! Just wear something, uh, distracting, alright?" Dean exclaimed as he shut the door behind him.

"_Why_?" Hannah asked, baffled. She heard the toilet flush shortly afterwards then the faucet turn on. When the door swung open, she sat up straighter and waited for his response.

"Look at yourself, Hannah. You're cute—" Hannah smiled widely at the compliment. "—ish, and I'm great at hustling. With my skills and your... assets, we'll be rolling in cash."

Hannah's smile had long vanished since Dean added the 'ish' to the 'cute' part. She glanced at Sam wondering what he made of Dean's scheme. He was staring at Dean like he was an idiot. Hannah looked back up at Dean, meeting his expectant stare.

If she said no, Dean would forever say that she was _not_ loosey-goosey. Besides, they needed the money and she wouldn't be doing much, just waiting in the bar for Dean to finish hustling pool.

"Fine," Hannah sighed. She suppressed a smile when she saw Dean throw his fist in the air. "But it _can't_ be a biker bar!"

"No promises," Dean replied easily. "Oh, lighten up, Sammy. If Miss Goody-Two-Shoes over here is agreeing to a night of drinking then so can you."

"Shut up," Hannah and Sam both told him.

It took an hour for Hannah to shower and get dressed in her—what she deemed—_temptress_ outfit. They drove to the nearest dive bar. It was night time by the time they found one, and it was a rowdy biker bar with loud rock music.

"I told you not to pick a biker bar!" Hannah hit Dean on his shoulder from the backseat.

"It's the only one around!" Dean exclaimed, lifting his arm to block her fist. "Now come on."

They all climbed out, but Hannah was tempted to retreat inside the Impala. There were some people loitering around outside, and one person whistled at the sight of the Impala. Sam pulled out a rolled up newspaper and sat himself on the hood of the car, resting his back against the windshield.

"You're not coming?" Hannah asked, disappointed.

Sam shook his head. "Go ahead without me. I'm trying to find us a gig."

She turned back to the bar then willed herself to enter it.

* * *

They came out of the bar with more than two grand.

"You know, we could get day jobs once in a while," Sam said when they neared the car.

"Hunting's our day job," Dean replied, handing Hannah the wad of cash to count. "And the pay is crap."

"Yeah, but hustling pool? Credit card scams?" Sam's eyes went to Hannah. "Using Hannah as a honey trap? It's not the most honest thing in the world, Dean."

"Well, let's see honest." Dean held out one empty hand. "Fun and easy." He took Hannah's hand holding the money and held it out beside his empty one. "It's no contest. Besides, we're good at it. It's what we were raised to do."

"Yeah, well, how we were raised was jack shit," Sam muttered.

Hannah pulled her hand out of Dean's grasp and went over to Sam. "Have you found us anything?" she asked, eager to change the subject.

"Maybe." Sam pointed to a column he circled in the newspaper. "Oasis Plains, Oklahoma—which is not too far from here. A gas company employee, Dustin Burwash, supposedly died from Creutzfeldt-Jakob."

"Huh?" Dean was understandably confused.

"Human mad cow disease," Hannah explained.

"Mad cow," Dean murmured then looked at them. "Wasn't that on _Oprah_?"

Sam and Hannah exchanged incredulous glances. "You watch _Oprah_?" Sam questioned, raising his brows.

Embarrassment crossed Dean's features.

"So, this guy eats a bad burger," Dean began, hastily changing the topic. "Why is it our kind of thing?"

"Mad cow disease causes massive brain degeneration. It takes months, even years, for the damage to appear," Sam continued, "but this guy, Dustin? Sounds like his brain disintegrated in about an hour. Maybe less."

"Okay, that's weird," Dean agreed.

"Now, it could be a disease." Sam got off the hood. "Or it could be something much nastier."

"Considering our track record, it's probably the latter," Hannah remarked.

"Man. Work, work, work," Dean sighed, going around to the driver's seat. "No time to spend my money."

"What would you buy with _our_ money?" Hannah asked as she climbed in the backseat.

"Cassette tapes," Dean answered cheerfully.

"Really?" Hannah would have never thought that Dean would want to spend his money on something so simple. "Maybe we can check out a music store later."

Dean met her eyes through the rear view mirror, and Hannah could see the corners of his mouth lift into a small smile. She returned it before looking down at her lap. He made fun of her every day, but then he would do something so... _Cute?_ Hannah looked back up. She was being dumb. Friends teased each other. That was normal. _I'm crazy_, she thought, but weren't all hunters a little crazy?

They returned to their motel quickly and Hannah called the bathroom first. She shot the boys annoyed looks when they both groaned, complaining that she would take a long time.

"Without me and my _assets_, we wouldn't have gotten all that cash," Hannah reminded Dean.

Sam and Dean both shut up after that.

Hannah had already showered before they left to the bar, so she just changed into her pajamas and washed off her makeup. She left the bathroom shortly after brushing her teeth and fell forward on her bed. Dean sat down on the edge of her bed with his back to her.

"We make a good team, Hannah," he told her after Sam went inside the bathroom to shower.

She propped herself up and laughed. "It took you this long to realize that?"

He snorted and reached out to tousle her hair. Hannah swatted at him and crawled under the covers. She told him goodnight, and smiled to herself when he said it back.

* * *

Hannah hummed _Cherry Bomb_ by The Runaways on their way to the scene of Dustin's death. They had questioned his co-worker Travis Weaver, posing as Dustin's niece and nephews. All they learned was that Dustin _definitely_ did not have mad cow disease.

"What do you guys think?" Hannah asked as she ducked underneath the yellow caution tape.

"I don't know, but if that guy Travis was right, it happened pretty damn fast," Sam said, pulling his flashlight out of the pocket of his jacket.

"So, what? Some sort of creature chewed on his brain?" Dean questioned, peering down at the sinkhole.

"No, there'd be an entry wound," Hannah murmured.

"Sounds like this thing worked from the inside," Sam remarked, turning off his flashlight. Despite using it, they could hardly see anything down there.

"Huh. Looks like there's only room for one." Dean turned to her and Sam, smirking. "Should we settle this the old fashion way?"

"No!" Hannah shook her head vehemently. "_I_ always lose!"

"That's not true. Dean loses just as much as you do," Sam said. He ignored the glares Dean and Hannah sent him. "Didn't you say you wanted to be a hunter?"

Hannah shot him a dirty look.

"Well, this is what hunters do, Hannah," Sam continued. He held out his fist and open hand. "Come on, let's get this over with."

Reluctantly, Hannah followed his and Dean's movements. _Rock, paper, scissors_. Hannah shaped her fist into scissors. Sam shaped his into rock and Dean scissors.

"Guess it's between us two," Dean mumbled, turning to face Hannah. They did it again and Hannah realized how stupid she was when she shaped her fist into paper when Dean _always_ chose scissors. "Looks like you get to see what's down there."

"Yeah, I'm really excited about it," Hannah replied sarcastically. She took the rope from Sam's hand and fumbled with it as she tied it around her waist.

"Need help?" Dean offered. He held his hands up in mock-mercy when Hannah sent him a scathing look.

She accepted the flashlight handed to her and clutched onto the rope as Sam lowered her further. When her boots hit the ground, Hannah let go of the rope and turned on the flashlight, shining it around her before stifling a scream. There were dead _bugs_ everywhere. It was the most disgusting thing she had ever seen.

"What do you see?" Sam asked from above.

"Bugs!"

"What kind?"

"Does it matter? They're dead! Get me out of here!"

"Just look, Hannah!"

Hannah whimpered as she crouched down and shone her light on the dead bugs. They looked like beetles and when she told Sam so, he told her to look for any tunnels. She shone her light around, but found nothing. As Hannah got to her feet, she accidentally touched a beetle and let out a startled scream. She turned off her flashlight and clutched the rope as Sam pulled her up and out of the sinkhole. Hannah punched Dean in the arm then jabbed Sam in the ribs, but he didn't even flinch.

"Aren't you ticklish?" she demanded, still jabbing her finger at different points of his body.

"No." Sam caught her hand.

"Whatever, weirdo," Hannah huffed, ripping her hand away. "Take me back to the motel. I need to shower."

"How many were down there?" Dean questioned, catching up with her.

"Ten or more, I think." Hannah shuddered. "All I know is that I touched one and I need to take a shower."

"Okay, okay," Dean relented. "You'll get your shower."

* * *

By the time Hannah finished showering and getting dressed, Sam and Dean were gone. _What assholes, _she thought but picked up her Motorola Razr and called Dean.

"Why did you guys leave?" Hannah asked when he picked up.

"_You were taking too long_," Dean explained. "_We're at a open house that has BBQ. Take a taxi here._"

"Fine," Hannah sighed then hung up. The next time Dean asked her to use her 'assets', she would take all the money.

Thankfully, this was a small town so the taxi driver knew which at open house Hannah was talking about. She paid the driver and took in the outside of the house. The paved walkways, the manicured lawns, it all seemed so... vanilla. But Hannah would be lying if she said she couldn't imagine herself living in a neighborhood like this.

Adjusting the strap to her purse, Hannah knocked on the front door three times. It swung open a moment later, revealing a friendly looking man. "Welcome!" he greeted pleasantly. "I'm Larry Pike, the developer here. And you are...?"

"Hannah." They shook hands.

"Hannah, nice to meet you," Larry said, and Hannah couldn't help but smile back. "So, you're interested in Oasis Plains?"

"I am. It looks like a lovely neighborhood," Hannah said politely.

"It is. Come on in." Larry stepped aside to let Hannah enter.

He led her to the backyard where many people were chatting and eating. Hannah was tempted to get a plate of barbecue, but a woman with her hair worn in a tight bun approached her.

"Hi, I'm Linda Bloom, head of sales."

"Oh." Hannah was a little startled by her in-your-face way of speaking. "I'm Hannah."

"I take it you're interested in becoming a homeowner," Linda said, her smile reminding Hannah of a Stepford Wife.

She looked past Linda and saw Sam speaking to a teenage boy with a tarantula. _How horrible_, Hannah thought, grimacing. Was this town overrun with bugs?

Linda followed Hannah's gaze. "He's a handsome young man, isn't he?" she commented, referring to Sam. "It's too bad he plays for the other team."

"What?!" Hannah blurted, widening her eyes.

"He came in with his partner, another handsome young man." Linda sighed, looking thoroughly disappointed. "It's unfortunate how all the good ones are gay."

Hannah's hand flew to her mouth as she tried her hardest to smother her laughter. "Excuse me," was all Hannah could manage to get out before stepping away. Her cheeks were starting to hurt from the laugh she was holding it. She paused, her mind flickering with an idea.

Marching up to Sam who was still talking to the teenage boy, Hannah tapped him on the back. When he turned to face her, Hannah slapped him across the face.

"What the—?" Sam touched his reddening cheek gingerly.

"How could you?!" Hannah demanded.

"Hannah—" Sam begun, but she slapped him again.

"How could you do this to me, Samuel! How could you throw away three years of our love and marriage for a _man_?!" Hannah knew she sounded hysterical from the uncomfortable looks on everyone's faces. "Haven't I been a good wife to you? What else do I have to do to make you love me!"

Sam gawked at her before sputtering out a flabbergasted, "_What_?"

"What the hell is going on here?" a familiar voice asked. Hannah whirled and saw Dean and Larry.

"This is the man you left for me, isn't he?" Hannah questioned, turning back to Sam. "I want your stuff out of our house by next week!"

"What is she talking about?" Dean asked, confused.

"I'm talking about _you_, homewrecker!" Hannah shrieked then buried her face in her hands. "Oh, _why_ Lord? Why did you send this man to break my heart!"

"Okay, we're leaving," muttered Sam, grasping Hannah's wrist and dragging her out of the backyard. "Sorry for the disruption, everyone. Enjoy your barbecue."

Hannah let out a wail as she dragged out of the house. It wasn't until they were outside and out of earshot did she burst out laughing. She was laughing so hard she doubled over, clutching her stomach.

"What the fuck was that about?" Dean questioned, still confused.

"I hate you, Hannah," Sam told her, exasperated. "_Why_ would you embarrass me like that?"

She couldn't even speak. Tears slid down her cheeks and finally her laughter died down to uncontrollable giggles. "Because, Sam, you made me go down in that sinkhole and touch dead _bugs_." She wiped her tears away. "You have to admit. It's pretty funny."

"No it's _not_," Sam hissed.

"It is actually," Dean admitted, chuckling. "You're a pretty good actress, Hannah."

"Thanks!" Hannah beamed. She sighed, leaning against the Impala. "How was your guys' tour?"

"Oh, it was excellent. I'm ready to buy," Dean answered, sarcastic. Hannah laughed. "So you might be onto something, Sam. Looks like Dustin Burwash wasn't the first strange death around here."

"What happened?" Sam asked, still scowling.

"About a year ago, before they broke ground, one of Larry's surveyors dropped dead while on the job," Dean told them. "Get this: severe allergic reaction to bee stings."

"More bugs," Sam murmured.

"More bugs." Dean nodded. He pulled out his car keys and tossed them to Sam. "Want to drive? Maybe that'll make you feel better."

Sam rolled his eyes while Hannah laughed as she climbed in the backseat. Unlike Dean, Sam drove at the correct speed limit.

"You know, I've heard of killer bees, but killer beetles?" Dean said after they drove for awhile. "What is it that could make different bugs attack?"

"Well, hauntings sometimes include bug manifestations," Sam informed them.

"Yeah, but I didn't see any evidence of ghost activity," Dean pointed out.

"Yeah, me neither," Sam admitted.

"Maybe they're being controlled somehow. You know, by something or someone," Hannah proposed, leaning forward.

"Like _Willard_?" Sam asked, open to the theory.

"I've never seen that movie." Hannah frowned.

"Remind me to show you sometime," Dean said to her. "And yeah, but with bugs instead of rats."

"There are cases of psychic connections between people and animals—elementals, telepaths," Sam listed.

"Yeah, that whole Timmy-Lassie thing," Dean said then was quiet, thinking for a moment. "Larry's kid has a thing for bugs."

"Do you mean the boy with the tarantula?" Hannah asked, her frown deepening.

"Same kid." Dean nodded.

"He did try to scare the realtor with a tarantula," Sam remembered, frowning too.

"You think he's our _Willard_?" Dean questioned, glancing at him and Hannah.

"I don't know. Anything's possible, I guess," Sam replied, but Hannah noted he sounded rather reluctant to believe it.

Dean looked out the window before hitting Sam lightly on the shoulder. "Hey, pull over here."

Sam looked at Dean in confusion, but nevertheless pulled into the empty driveway of one of the Oasis Plains homes. Dean hopped out of the car and gestured for Hannah to climb out. Hesitantly, she followed him.

"What are we doing here?" Hannah inquired.

"It's too late to talk to anybody else," Dean pointed out.

"We're going to squat in an empty house?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"I want to try the steam shower," Dean explained, stepping aside so Sam wouldn't run him over as he drove into the garage. He turned to Hannah, his mouth curving into a roguish smile. "Want to join me?"

Hannah's jaw went slack and she struggled to come up with a response. All while she was sputtering like a flustered idiot, Dean's roguish smile melted into a grin.

"Ah, I'm just kidding, Princess," he said, draping his arm over her shoulders. Hannah looked away, hoping he wouldn't notice her burning cheeks. "Hurry up, Sam!"

Dean removed his arm from her shoulders and went to shut the garage door behind the parked Impala. Hannah mentally kicked herself. How could she ever take Dean's flirty words seriously? He only said that because he _knew_ that would make her blush.

_God, I hate him sometimes_, Hannah thought as she followed the boys inside the empty house.

* * *

Hannah felt herself be gently shaken awake. She opened her eyes and blinked a few times. Once her vision cleared, she saw that it was Sam crouching next to her.

"Morning," Hannah said hoarsely. She looked down at herself and noticed that she was swathed in Sam and Dean's jackets. "Why am I...?"

"You were cold," Sam explained as he took his jacket. Hannah remembered that she had taken off her own jacket to use as a pillow since there was no furniture in the house.

"You didn't have to," Hannah murmured, giving him a sleepy smile. "You were probably cold too."

"Nah, it's fine," Sam said, waving a dismissive hand.

She slowly got up, still groggy. Yawning, Hannah picked up her purse and jacket. She wandered around the house until she found the bathroom.

"Dean," she called, leaning against the door. "Hurry up, I need to brush my hair."

"_What?"_ he yelled from inside.

"You ever coming out of there?" Sam demanded, banging on the door.

"_What?"_ Dean shouted again.

"Dean, a police call came in on the scanner," Sam informed him loudly.

A moment later, the door opened a little and steam drifted out of the bathroom. Dean stuck his head out, a towel wrapped around his head. He grinned and said, "This shower is awesome."

"Come on," Sam huffed, rolling his eyes. He walked away, most likely to the garage.

Dean rolled his eyes and shut the door. Hannah leaned against the wall near the door and waited. He was pulling down his shirt when he stepped out of the bathroom, but Hannah caught a peek of his flat stomach before it was completely covered. She remembered his jacket and took it off, handing it to him.

"Thanks," he said, shrugging it on.

They ended up in Larry Pike's neighborhood. Police surrounded the house next door, and they spotted Larry speaking to someone on his cell phone. A covered body was carried out on a stretcher over to the morgue truck. Hannah learned that was the realtor, Linda Bloom, getting carried out from Sam.

"Wait," Sam said, stopping Dean from getting out. "Why don't we wait until the police leave?"

"Why?" Hannah asked, then recalled the incident yesterday at the open house. "Oh, never mind."

"Yeah." Sam glared at her through the rear view mirror.

"Whatever," Dean sighed, leaning back. Hannah heard him mutter some obscene word, but they waited in silence until the police finally dispersed from the scene.

Getting out quickly, Hannah and the boys climbed over the fence and through the bedroom window. Hannah looked around before following the boys to the hallway leading to the bathroom where an outline of Linda Bloom's body was drawn. Drops of blood stained the carpet and she could see that the glass shower door was broken.

Walking inside the bathroom, Hannah picked up a towel. Her eyes widened and she dropped it with a shriek. It was covered in dead _spiders_. She yelped when she backed into someone. Turning around, she saw it was Dean.

"You're such a wuss," he told her.

"Shut up," Hannah hissed, stepping around him.

"Spiders. From Spider Boy?" Dean asked Sam.

"Matt," Sam corrected, a chilly expression on his face. "Maybe."

"I don't think so," Hannah said, crossing her arms. "He's a loner, not a killer."

"Like I said, maybe," Sam said. "We could wait for him by the bus stop."

Hannah and Dean didn't argue with him. They snuck out of the house and back to the Impala where they parked it at the curb of the street. Twenty minutes passed when finally, a school bus pulled up across the street from where they were parked. Matt stepped off the bus and started walking into the forest.

"Where's he going?" Hannah asked, watching him head in the opposite direction from his house.

"Isn't his house that way?" Dean wondered.

"Yeah." Sam nodded.

Curious as to where he was headed, Hannah and the boys climbed out of the car and followed him. The forest reminded Hannah of the wendigo case they did weeks ago. They found Matt easily, and Hannah barely restrained a shudder from the sight of the praying mantis on his wrist. She swallowed thickly and decided to stay behind Dean and Sam. Dean looked over his shoulder and smirked at her. She scowled at him.

"Hey, Matt," Sam said, startling the teen. "Remember me?"

"What are you doing out here?" Matt questioned, glancing at them.

"We just want to talk to you," Dean replied, yet his voice held a vaguely threatening tone.

"You're not here to buy a house, are you?" Matt guessed correctly. When Dean shook his head, Matt paled and he took a small step back. "W-wait. You're not serial killers, are you?"

Shoving back her disgust, Hannah stepped towards Matt. "No, you're safe," she reassured him, smiling.

Matt started to relax, then frowned at her. "Weren't you the girl accusing them of being...?"

Sam's groan almost made Hannah laugh. "I was just messing with him." She jutted her thumb at them, "They're brothers."

"Oh." Matt smiled, amused.

"So, Matt," called Dean loudly. Hannah flashed him a sheepish smile, remembering that Matt was a possible suspect. "You sure know a lot about insects."

"So?" He looked down at the praying mantis on his wrist, and Hannah took a small step back.

"Did you hear what happened to Linda, the realtor?" Dean queried.

He looked up, swallowing thickly. "I heard she died this morning."

"Mm, that's right. Spider bites."

Hannah shot Dean an annoyed look, wishing he would lay off the poor kid. Sam seemed just as bothered with Dean's lack of tact, but turned look at Matt.

"Matt, you tried to scare her with a spider," Sam reminded him.

"Wait—you think _I_ had something to do with this?" Matt widened his eyes.

"You tell us," Dean responded, shrugging.

"That tarantula was a _joke_," Matt protested, "and anyway, that wouldn't explain the bee attack or the gas company guy."

"You know about those?" Hannah asked him softly.

"There is something going on here. I don't know what... but something's happening with the insects." Matt put the praying mantis back on the rock. "Let me show you something."

He picked up his backpack and started leading them through the forest. Hannah and Dean trailed behind Matt and Sam. She wasn't exactly eager to see what lied ahead.

"So, if you knew about all this bug stuff, why not tell your dad? Maybe he could clear everybody out," Sam inquired.

"Believe me, I've tried. But, uh, _Larry_ doesn't listen to me," Matt replied, bitterness coloring his tone.

"Well, why not?"

"Mostly? He's too disappointed in his freak son."

"I hear you."

Dean glanced between Sam and Matt. "You do?" he asked the former.

_Oh no_, Hannah thought, glancing at Dean. She knew this conversation wouldn't turn out well with Dean here. John's disappearance was usually the elephant in the room—or _car_. Hannah knew how it felt to be defensive of your dad, but she also understood Sam's frustrations. After all, she listened to Sam vent about John's controlling nature for many years.

Sam shot Dean a pointed look before turning back to Matt. "Matt, how old are you?"

"Sixteen," he answered, puzzled.

"Well, don't sweat it, because in two years, something great's going to happen," Sam told him.

"What?" Matt didn't sound too sure.

"College," Sam said. "You'll be able to get out of that house and away from—"

"College is great!" Hannah exclaimed. She ignored the glare Sam and Dean both sent her. "You get to meet so many different people, and the classes are so much more informative than ones back in high school."

"Really?" Matt looked at her hopefully.

"Really." Hannah nodded, smiling. "And hey, there's probably a club devoted to collecting insects at whichever college you're going to, so you'll get to meet more people like you."

Matt smiled at her before continuing their trek through the forest. She could feel Dean's eyes on her, but she ignored him. There was no need to fight in front of this teenager.

"How much further, Matt?" Sam asked a while later.

"We're close," he told them.

Five minutes later, they reached a large clearing. Hannah tensed when she heard more buzzing sounds than she'd like in the clearing.

"I've been keeping track of insect populations," Matt said, turning to them. He suddenly looked embarrassed and hastily explained himself, "It's, um, part of an AP science class."

"You two are like peas in a pod," Dean muttered under his breath.

"What's been happening?" Sam ignored Dean's comment.

"A lot. I mean, from bees to earthworms, beetles... you name it," Matt said. He looked around in amazement. "It's like they're congregating here."

"Why?" Dean wondered.

"I don't know," Matt answered.

Hannah flinched when she spotted large dark patch of grass a few feet away. The others noticed it too and walked over to it. Hannah kept a safe distance away from the patch, nearly gagging when she saw more than a hundred worms crawling in the patch of grass and dirt. The patch turned out to be shallow, with Dean's foot creating a hole in the grass.

"There's something down there," Dean said, and he glanced behind him at Hannah. "What are you doing back there?"

She gestured for him to dig through the dirt. Dean rolled his eyes before pulling up the sleeve to his jacket and plunging his hand through the hole. Hannah bit her lip, imagining how gross it must have felt to be touching worms. She widened her eyes when Dean finally pulled something out.

It was a human skull.

* * *

They dropped Matt back off at his house then decided to visit the community college, hoping an anthropology professor could explain the skeleton remains they found.

They had driven in silence, and Hannah supposed it had something to do with John. Sam and Dean were as close as brothers could get, but when it came to their opinions about their dad...

"So, a bunch of skeletons in an unmarked grave," Sam said, once they reached the community college. He took the box of skeletons out of Hannah's arms.

"Maybe this is a haunting. Pissed off spirits? Some unfinished business?" Dean proposed, locking the Impala.

"Yeah, maybe," Sam said. "Question is, why bugs? And why now?"

"That's two questions," Hannah corrected. She smiled sheepishly at his glare. She was about to follow him when Dean touched her elbow. He stared at her, and the intensity of it froze Hannah in place.

"I know what you did back there—in the forest, I mean," Dean told her. "… Thanks."

She blinked in surprise. Hannah had expected him to yell at her, not _this_. She smiled a little and nodded. His gaze lingered and he finally let her go. They hurry caught up with Sam and quickly questioned the professor on the bones.

The professor didn't take long to examine the skeleton remains. He claimed they were about 170 years old, suggesting they were Native American from the geography and time frame. He directed them to a Yuchi tribe in Sapulpa, which was forty minutes from the community college.

Dean slowed down his car and asked a man nearby where the eldest person of his tribe lived. He pointed straight ahead, and they thanked him. Dean parked in front of a diner and waited until Hannah climbed out to enter. They spotted the old man immediately, with his long silver hair and aged face.

"Joe White Tree?" Sam asked him. He looked up from his card game and nodded. "We'd like to ask you a few questions, if that's all right."

"We're students from the university," Dean added.

"No, you're not. You're lying," stated the old man.

Hannah glanced at Sam, both just as taken back as Dean was.

"Well, truth is—" Dean tried to say.

"You know who starts sentence with 'truth is'?" Joe White Tree interrupted, not even sparing Dean a look. "Liars."

"Have you heard of Oasis Plains?" Sam questioned, getting straight to the point. "It's a housing development near the Atoka Valley."

"I like him. _He's_ not a liar," the old man told Dean. He turned away, scowling. "I know the area."

She asked silently if she could sit. Joe White Tree nodded and watched her sit in front of him. "That amulet of yours..." he murmured, "it radiates something powerful."

Unsure of how to respond, Hannah asked him instead, "What can you tell us about the history there?"

"Why do you want to know?" he asked, frowning.

"Something bad is happening in Oasis Plains. We think it might have something to do with some old bones we found down there," Sam explained. "Native American bones."

"I'll tell you what my grandfather told me, what his grandfather told him," the old man said, sitting up. "Two hundred years ago, a band of my ancestors lived in that valley. One day, the American cavalry came to relocate them. They were resistant, the cavalry impatient. As my grandfather put it, on the night the moon and the sun share the sky as equals, the cavalry first raided our village. They murdered, raped. The next day, the cavalry came again, and the next, and the next. And on the sixth night, the cavalry came one last time.

"And by the time the sun rose, every man, woman, and child still in the village was dead. They say on the sixth night, as the chief of the village lay dying, he whispered to the heavens that no white man would ever tarnish this land again. Nature would rise up and protect the valley. And it would bring as many days of misery and death to the white man as the cavalry had brought upon his people.

"And on the night of the sixth day, none would survive," the old man concluded.

* * *

"So the gas company man man died on March 20th which was on a Friday," Hannah calculated on their way back to the Impala. "That's the spring solstice."

"'The night the sun and the moon share the sky as equals'," Dean quoted as he pulled his car keys out of his pocket.

"So, every year about this time, anybody in Oasis Plains is in danger," Sam said then creased his eyebrows. "Larry built this neighborhood on cursed land."

"'And on the sixth night'," Dean remembered, then said the same time Hannah exclaimed, "It's tonight."

"If we don't do something, Larry's family will be dead by sunrise," Sam said, resolute.

"So, how do we break the curse?" Hannah asked.

"You don't break a curse," Dean told her, much to her disappointment. "You get out of its way. We've gotta get those people out _now_."

She widened her eyes in shock when Dean pulled out his phone and started to call someone as he drove. She snatched it from him and snapped it shut.

"What are you doing?!" Dean demanded.

"Are you really that reckless? You're _driving_!" Hannah exclaimed.

"So?" Dean asked, exasperated.

"Sam. Call Larry," Hannah handed him Dean's phone.

"Fuck you, Hannah. I'm trying to get those people _out_ of that house."

"I don't want us to crash, dummy! Why don't you understand that?"

"Both of you shut up!" hissed Sam. "The phone is ringing."

They fell silent. Sam ended up calling Matt instead. She gripped the bottom of her seat, her pulse quickening with each passing moment. It didn't help that Dean was driving at dangerous speeds.

Both Dean and Hannah perked up when they heard Sam say, "You've gotta make him listen, okay?"

"Give me the phone," snapped Dean. He took the phone roughly from Sam's hand. "Matt, under no circumstances are you to tell the truth, they'll just think you're nuts."

"You don't know that," Hannah said sharply. "His dad _could_ believe him."

"Right," Dean said derisively. "Tell him you have a sharp pain in your right side and you've gotta go to the hospital, okay?"

Dean snapped his phone shut and shot Hannah a dirty look before returning his attention to the road. Hannah made a face at him from the backseat then leaned back, crossing her arms.

"'Make him listen'?" Dean repeated, glancing at Sam with a scowl on his face. "What were you thinking?"

Hannah rolled her eyes. Dean could be so tactless sometimes. They reached Oasis Plains and parked the Impala right in front of Larry's home. As Hannah shut the door passenger door behind her, she noticed Larry looking through the window before storming through the front door.

"Get off my property before I call the cops!" Larry shouted.

"Mr. Pike, listen—" Sam tried to explain.

"Dad, they're just trying to help," Matt pleaded.

"Get in the house!" he snapped at his son.

"I'm sorry," Matt apologized, turning to Hannah and the boys. "I told him the truth."

"We had a plan, Matt!" Dean upbraided. "What happened to the plan?"

"It's twelve AM!" Hannah shouted over everyone. "They are coming any minute now. You need to get your family and go, before it's too late."

"Yeah, you mean before the biblical swarm," scoffed Larry, crossing his arms.

"Larry, what do you think really happened to that realtor, huh? And the gas company guy?" Dean reasoned, his face and tone the most somber Hannah had ever witnessed. "You don't think something weird is going on here?"

Larry faltered. Hannah hoped he would listen, but was disappointed when a scowl returned to his face. "Look, I don't know who you are, but you're crazy," Larry decided, glowering at them. "You come near my boy or my family again, and we're gonna have a problem."

"Well, I hate to be a downer, but we've got a problem right _now_," Dean replied sharply.

"Dad, they're right, okay? We're in danger," Matt urged.

"Matt, get inside! Now!"

"No! Why won't you listen to me?!"

"Because this is crazy! It doesn't make any sense!"

Hannah froze, straining to hear. From a distance, she could hear a buzzing sound. Her heart beat faster the louder it became. Her skin pebbled with goosebumps. "Do you hear it?" she whispered to Dean.

Dean shut everyone up. Hannah widened her eyes when she heard the lantern hanging on Larry's porch zap a bug, then another one and another one...

They all looked up at the sky. Hannah cupped her mouth shut when she spotted a swarm of insects fly towards the Pike home. She turned to the Impala, wondering if they could make it. Sam seemed to read her thoughts and grabbed her wrist, holding onto her tightly.

"We'll never make it," Sam stated.

"Everybody in the house," Dean ordered, gesturing for them to move. He shut the front door and locked it behind them as they rushed inside.

"There's no one else in this neighborhood, right?" Hannah asked Larry, hoping there wasn't. She didn't want the guilt of knowing they could have saved more people.

"No, it's just us," Larry answered anxiously.

Larry's wife stepped out of the kitchen, confusion written on her face. Hannah briefly recalled Larry introducing her at the barbecue. "Honey, what's happening? What's that noise?" his wife asked, frightened.

"Call 911," Larry instructed. She stood there, clearly petrified by the noise outside. "Joanie!"

Joanie hurried over to the house phone and dialed the number. After grabbing some towels, she, Sam, Dean, and Matt ran around the house placing them in any openings—doors, windows, the fireplace.

"Phones are dead," Joanie announced.

"They must have chewed through the phone lines," Dean murmured. He and Hannah looked up from the kitchen where they placed towels in the window. "And the power lines."

"Maybe my cell will work," Larry suggested, pulling his phone out. Not a second later did he stuff it back in his pocket. "No signal."

"You won't get one. They're blanketing the house," Dean replied. He turned to Hannah. "And don't bother telling me that 'oh, you don't know, it could happen'."

Hannah wrinkled her nose. "Is that supposed to sound like me?"

As Hannah walked passed the window, she jumped, gasping when she noticed the millions of insects collecting on the window. Swallowing thickly, Hannah met up with the others in the living room. Dean stayed in the kitchen, rifling through the cabinets.

"So what do we do now?" Larry asked her and Sam.

"We try to outlast it," Sam sighed. "Hopefully, the curse will end at sunrise."

"Hopefully?" Larry echoed, widening his eyes.

"Bug spray?" Joanie said in disbelief, when Dean returned to the living room with a can of bug spray.

"Trust me," Dean told her.

Everyone fell silent when the buzzing sound increased. It sounded closer, like it was _inside _the house. Matt was the only one brave enough to ask what that sound was.

"The flue," Sam realized.

"I think everybody needs to get upstairs," Dean instructed. Almost on cue, a horde of insects swarmed out of the fireplace. He lit his lighter near the bug spray, his flames warding off some of the insects. "Everyone upstairs! _Now!_"

They scampered up the stairs. Larry pulled a ladder down leading up to the attic. Hannah climbed up the ladder after Larry and his family. When Dean made it up to the attic, Sam pulled the ladder up and slammed the attic door shut.

A beat passed before the buzzing sound grew louder. Sawdust floated over them. Hannah's insides twisted in fear. She was going to die like that girl from _The Mummy Returns_, devoured by flesh-eating beetles.

"Oh, God, what's that?" Joanie asked, noticing the sound.

"Something's eating through the wood," Hannah answered, hating how her voice trembled. "Termites, probably."

"Okay, everybody get back." Dean motioned for Larry and his family to hide in the farthest corner of the attic. Merely seconds later did the termites chew through the ceiling, bursting into the attic.

Frantically, Hannah and the boys tried to patch up the hole. Dean tossed her another can of bug spray, but as she and Dean sprayed, and Sam patched up the hole, more holes were gnawed at by the termites, allowing more insects to swarm the attic.

There was no more substance in her can. Hannah dropped it and retreated with the family in the corner. Dean's can ran out shortly after, and Sam dropped the metal beam he was using to patch up one of the holes in the ceiling. Dean's chest collided with her face, and Hannah clutched onto his shirt, squeezing her eyes shut.

It must have been ages before the buzzing sound mercifully stopped. Hannah opened her eyes and peeked around Dean's body, seeing rays of sunlight shining through the holes created by the termites. She exhaled deeply and looked up, stiffening when she met Dean's eyes. How long had he'd been holding her? Her heart thrummed in her chest rapidly. Hannah let go of his shirt and Dean released his hold on her. She turned to Sam, smiling in relief to see him alive.

They survived the sixth night.

* * *

Hannah was laying on her side on the bed in their motel room, watching absently as Sam and Dean packed their own things. Two days had passed since they were nearly devoured by bugs at the Pikes' home, and she and the boys were finally getting ready to leave Oklahoma.

She fingered the silver chain around her neck. Her mind went to what the old man from Sapulpa. He claimed her hamsa amulet "radiated something powerful." Did he have some kind of sixth sense? There was nothing special about this amulet. Dean had got it from some hippie store for her eleventh birthday on the road on his way to Sioux Falls. The only thing special about it was that it was the only gift Dean ever gave her. Maybe this amulet was possessed or maybe—

"Hannah," called Sam, interrupting her thoughts. "We're going to say goodbye to Matt and his parents."

"Alright." Hannah let go of her amulet and slowly sat up. She stretched her back and her arms over her head. "Hey, Dean, did you want to check out a music store before we leave?"

Dean looked at her, surprised. "You remembered."

She smiled at him, puzzled. "Why wouldn't I?"

For a second, his eyes were wide, then he turned away with a shrug. "What did you want to buy with our money again?" he asked without looking at her.

"Clothes," she immediately said. "Books too."

They checked out of the motel and drove to Oasis Plains where they found Larry placing boxes inside a moving van. It came as no surprise for Hannah. She would have gotten the hell out of that land after experiencing something as traumatizing as that. After getting out of the Impala, they approached Larry who paused when he noticed them.

"Good timing. Another hour and we'd have been gone," Larry said, smiling at them. He reached out to shake their hands, shaking Sam's last.

"For good?" Sam inquired.

"Yeah. The development's been put on hold while the government investigates those bones you found, but I'm going to make damn sure no one lives here again," Larry explained.

"You don't seem too upset about it," Sam noted.

"Well, this has been the biggest financial disaster of my career, but somehow..." Larry looked at Matt who was carrying a few boxes out of the house. "I don't really care."

Hannah smiled, and watched as Sam went over to speak to Matt. She and Dean went back to the car, leaning against it as they waited for Sam. They watched Larry talk to his son, looking considerably happier than the last time they saw them.

"I've been thinking... I know me and Dad never got along, that's why I connected with Matt," Sam suddenly confessed. "I always thought he was disappointed in me."

"Sam, Dad was never disappointed in you," Dean assured him.

"I realize that now," Sam murmured, looking at Larry and Matt. He turned to Dean, staring at him. "I want to find Dad."

"Yeah, me too," Dean said, glancing at Hannah. He must have been as surprised as she was by his words.

"Yeah, but I just... I want to apologize to him," Sam decided.

"For what?" Dean asked, completely shocked.

"All the things I said to him," Sam answered, tearing his gaze away. "He was just doing the best he could."

"Oh, Sam!" Hannah threw her arms around Sam's waist, hugging him tight. "Don't worry. We'll find him."

"Yeah, listen to Hannah," Dean agreed. He laughed as he said, "And then you'll apologize. And then within five minutes, you guys will be at each other's throats."

Sam and Hannah laughed, and she let go of him. "Yeah, probably," admitted Sam as he opened the passenger door. "Let's hit the road."

"Play _Cherry Bomb_!" Hannah exclaimed, climbing into the backseat.

"Now you're talking!" Dean grinned at her through the rear view mirror.

"_Can't stay at home, can't stay at school_," Hannah sand. "_Old folks say 'You poor little fool'. Down the streets I'm the girl next door. I'm the fox you've been waiting for!_"

Dean started to sing along too, and Sam laughed loudly. Hannah was still singing as she and the boys waved goodbye to Larry and Matt, putting Oasis Plains behind them.


	9. Home

**A/N: **Special thanks to everyone for following and favoriting. Lastly, thank you _RebornRose1992, Evangeline Smithson, grapejuice101_, _Stoxy99, xXxAzuranMagexXx_, _NightlyLexie_, _Rosalind, Jessica_, and _guest_ for the lovely reviews.

Please review and enjoy this chapter!

**9.**

**Home**

Hannah's eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. She sat up, wondering what time it was. Thoughts of the time vanished once she noticed Sam sitting up on the couch. The alarm clock on the nightstand said six o'clock. What was he doing up so early? Forcing herself out of her bed, she went over to him on the couch.

"Sam?" she touched his arm, and his chest no longer heaved so heavily.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, breathless. "Shit. I'm sorry, Han."

"Was this a nightmare about...?" Hannah trailed off, afraid of upsetting him even more.

"No," he answered, swallowing thickly. "No, it wasn't about Jess. It was something else entirely."

What could frighten Sam so much? Hannah bit her lip, not wanting to leave Sam alone with his thoughts. She got off the couch and went over to her backpack, rifling through it until she found a pack of playing cards. Hannah returned to the couch and showed him the box. The light from the T.V. would let them see their cards.

"Want to play a card game?" she asked.

Sam smiled and shrugged, watching as Hannah shuffled their cards.

They played an hour's worth of card games before showering and getting dressed. Dean woke up three hours later and seemed surprised to already see Hannah and Sam up and about. She and Dean usually woke up around the same time.

"What time did you guys even wake up?" Dean asked as he brushed his teeth.

"At six," Hannah answered. "We played card games for a while. Sam wanted to be a bad brother and wake you up."

Dean snorted then spat out his toothpaste. "Thanks for that."

Sam pushed Hannah playfully, a look of mock-annoyance crossing his features. She pushed him back, smiling as she got up from the couch. She crouched down by her backpack and took out her nail polish. Dean tousled her hair when he stepped over her to sit at the desk by the window. Hannah kicked his leg before returning to her task.

It was quiet for a long time. Dean researched some possible jobs for them on Sam's laptop. Hannah sat on the floor painting her toenails lavender, with her back resting against the foot of Dean's bed. Sam sat on Hannah's bed sketching a picture. Hannah wanted to ask what it was, but from the concentrated look on his face, she thought it was best to wait.

She was just finishing up her right foot when Dean spoke up. "Alright, so I've been cruising some websites. I think I found a few candidates for our next gig."

"Lay it on me, cowboy," Hannah said, appraising her newly polished toes.

"A fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali—its crew vanished. And, uh, we got some cattle mutilations in West Texas," Dean told them. "Hey, am I boring you with this hunting evil stuff?"

Sam looked up from his notebook. "No, I'm listening," he insisted before returning to his drawing. "Keep going."

Dean glanced at Hannah, irritated before looking back at the screen of the laptop.

"And, here, a Sacramento man shot himself in the head. Three times." Dean waved his hand at Sam. "Any of these things blowing up your skirt, pal?"

Realization dawned on Sam's face. "Wait," he said, "I've seen this."

"Seen what?" Hannah asked, sitting up straighter.

"What are you _doing_?" Dean stared at Sam, bewildered as he rummaged through his duffel bag and pulled out John's journal.

"Guys." Sam looked up, his eyes wide. "I know where we have to go next."

"Where?" Dean asked.

"Back home. Back to Kansas."

His words slowly sunk in and for an instant, Hannah could not speak. She knew the bad memories Lawrence held for him and Dean. Her heart panged with sympathy for Dean, who's own fear was unmasked on his face. It lasted briefly, the expression on his face shifting to a dispassionate one.

"Okay, random," Dean finally said. His voice sounded nonchalant, but Hannah could see his mind racing. "Where'd that come from?"

Sam went over to Dean, showing him a photo alongside his own drawing. Hannah stood, careful not to ruin her painted toes, and joined them. Sam's drawing looked _exactly_ like the tree in the background of the photo with him, Dean, John, and Mary.

"Alright, um, this photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where Mom died?" Sam questioned.

"Yeah." Dean nodded.

"And it didn't burn down, right? I mean, not completely, they rebuilt it, right?"

"I guess so, yeah. What the hell are you talking about?"

"Okay, look, this is gonna sound crazy but..." Sam hesitated, and Hannah realized that this might have something to do with his nightmare. "The people who live in our old house—I think they might be in danger."

Hannah exchanged an uneasy glance with Dean.

"Why would you think that?" she asked him softly.

"It's just, um..." Sam stammered. He shook his head. "_Look_, just trust me on this, okay?"

"Wait, whoa, whoa, _trust_ you?" Dean demanded, hounding after him.

Sam turned to them and nodded. "Yeah."

"Come on, man, that's weak," Dean snapped. "You gotta give us a little bit more than that."

"I can't really explain it is all," Sam replied, shrugging helplessly.

"Well, tough." Dean sat down on the edge of his bed. "I'm not going anywhere until you do."

"Yeah, Sam. We need information. An explanation would help us," Hannah added.

From the annoyed look and sigh Sam released, she guessed he really _did_ think she was taking Dean's side over his. Hannah found it annoying that she was even forced to _choose _sides between him and Dean.

"I have these nightmares," Sam started.

"I've noticed," Dean said, nodding.

"And sometimes…. they come true," Sam continued.

Dean opened his mouth then closed it, struggling to think of a response. For Hannah, it felt like deja vu. Had Sam told her this before? If he had, how had she forgotten hearing something so unreal?

"Sam, people have weird dreams, man. I'm sure it's just a coincidence," Dean reassured.

"No. I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, everything, and I didn't do anything about it cause' I didn't believe it." Sam sat down across from them on his bed. Hannah sat beside him. "And now I'm dreaming about that tree, about our house, and about some woman inside screaming for help. I mean, that's where it all started. This has to mean something, right?"

Both turned to Hannah, helplessness plain on their faces. She knew Dean was too overwhelmed to answer Sam, but how could she? Despite knowing everything about their mother's death, this was something she never felt comfortable talking about. It was a sore subject for them, and Hannah never talked about it unless they brought it up first, which was never.

Getting up, Hannah leaned down until she was eye level with Sam, placing her hands on his broad shoulders to steady herself.

"Sammy, if it makes you have a better conscious then we'll go to Kansas," Hannah told him.

"No," Dean suddenly said. Hannah spun around, surprised to see how angry he was. "You just can't make these kinds of decisions, Hannah."

"This woman might be in danger. I mean, this might even be the thing that killed Mom and Jessica!" Sam exclaimed.

"Alright, just slow down, would you?" Dean snapped. He started to pace the room. "I mean, first you tell me that you've got _The Shining_? And then you tell me that I've got to go back home? Especially when... when..."

Hannah grasped his forearm, and he paused, flinching at her touch. She tilted her head until she could meet his eyes. "When what, Dean?" she asked softly.

He stared at her, a thousand emotions flickering across his face. He pried his arm out of her grasp as he turned away. "When I swore to myself that I would never go back there."

_Oh_. Hannah's heart ached.

"Look, Dean, we have to check this out," Sam urged, and Hannah nodded. "Just to make sure."

"I know we do," Dean replied, emotion thick in his voice. "Just... give me a minute."

Sam and Hannah watched him go inside the bathroom, shutting it behind him. This day could not get any stranger. Sam had precognitive dreams, Dean was an emotional mess... it was nothing Hannah was used to. Dean was the strong one. He didn't let feelings get in the way of hunts, so seeing him this shaken...

"Come on," Sam murmured, getting up. "Let's pack our things."

She nodded and gathered anything left out of her backpack and duffel bag. Hannah slipped on her ballet flats and just before she stepped out of the motel room door, she glanced back at the bathroom. She turned away when the door opened, knowing Dean would just close himself off if she offered him any solace. Hannah would talk to him when they were alone, whenever that happened.

* * *

Most of the drive to Lawrence, Kansas was spent in silence. The only thing keeping the ride from getting any more uncomfortable was the radio playing softly.

Dean pulled up in front of his old home, and no one made any attempt to get out of the car. Sam patted Dean's shoulder before getting out first. Hannah climbed out after him. She waited for Dean as he slowly stepped out of the driver's seat.

"Are you sure you're alright?" she asked.

"I'm always alright," Dean replied, but his gaze was elsewhere. Hannah followed his gaze, looking over her shoulder at the place where his mother died. "Let's just get this over with."

They walked alongside each other until they were standing in front of the door. Sam shared a brief nod with Dean before knocking. It swung open shortly after, revealing a young blonde woman. "Yes?" she asked.

"Sorry to bother you, ma'am, but we're with the Federal—" Dean started to say.

"I'm Sam Winchester, and this is my brother, Dean, and our cousin, Hannah," Sam interrupted. Dean widened his eyes at him. "You know, we were just driving by, and we were wondering if we could come see the old place."

"Winchester," she repeated, thoughtful. "Yeah, that's so funny. You know, I think I found some of your photos the other night."

"You did?" Dean asked, surprised.

She glanced back inside, uncertain then turned back to them smiling. "Come on in," she said, stepping aside. "I'm Jenny by the way."

Hannah looked around as she followed the boys down the hall. As they drew closer to the kitchen, she could hear a childlike voice shouting, "Juice! Juice! Juice!" When they entered it, Hannah saw a toddler jumping in his playpen and a little girl doing homework at the table.

"That's Richie. He's kind of a juice fanatic," Jenny introduced as she unlocked her fridge. She went over to Ritchie and handed him his sippy cup. "But, hey, at least he won't get scurvy. Sari, this is Sam, Dean, and Hannah. They used to live here."

"Hi," Sari greeted, looking up from her work.

"Hi, Sari," Hannah said, smiling. Dean offered her a mild wave. "So, did you just move here?"

"Yeah, from Wichita," Jenny replied.

"You got family here, or...?" Dean trailed off, looking around the kitchen.

"No. I just... needed a fresh start, that's all," Jenny told them, sighing. "So, new town, new job—I mean, as soon as I find one. New house."

"So, how are you liking it so far?" Sam inquired.

"Well, uh, all due respect to your childhood home—I mean, I'm sure you had lots of happy memories here." Hannah chewed her bottom lip, glancing anxiously at Dean and Sam. "But this place has its issues."

Sam shifted on his feet. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's just getting old, like the wiring, you know?" Jenny informed them. "We've got flickering lights almost hourly."

_Flickering lights_? Hannah thought, creasing her eyebrows.

"Oh, that's too bad," Dean commented, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "What else?"

"Um… the sink is backed up, there's _rats_ in the basement." Jenny paused, and looked a little embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to complain."

"No. Have you seen the rats or have you just heard scratching?" Dean asked, unbothered.

Jenny seemed to think about it. "Just the scratching, actually."

Hannah's frown deepened. What Jenny described definitely sounded like signs of a malevolent spirit. Could this spirit be the thing that killed Mary Winchester? Or maybe it was Mary _herself _haunting her old home...

"Mom?" Sari suddenly asked. "Ask them if it was here when they lived here."

"What was, Sari?" Hannah questioned, curious.

Sari looked away from her mother and met Hannah's inquisitive stare. "The thing in my closet."

"Oh, no, baby, there was nothing in their closets," Jenny told her daughter. She turned to Hannah, Dean, and Sam. "Right?"

"Right. No, no, of course not," Sam answered after Dean hesitated.

"She had a nightmare the other night," Jenny explained to them.

"I wasn't dreaming," Sari insisted. "It came into my bedroom—and it was on fire."

Hannah didn't need to look at Sam and Dean's faces to know that they were both just as shocked as she was. Sam recovered quicker, though, and swiftly bid Jenny and her family farewell before guiding Hannah and Dean out of the old Winchester home. The moment they were outside, Sam couldn't seem to hold it in much longer.

"You hear that? A figure on _fire_," Sam echoed Sari's words.

"And that woman, Jenny, that was the woman in your dreams?" Dean demanded, pointing back at the house.

"Yeah. And you hear what she was talking about?" Sam continued, his words loud and rushed.

"Scratching, flickering lights," Hannah repeated. "Both signs of a malevolent spirit."

"Yeah, well, I'm just freaked out that your weirdo visions are coming true," Dean admitted as he pulled out his car keys.

"Well, forget about that for a minute," Sam told him. There was a panicked look on his face. "The thing in the house, do you think it's the thing that killed Mom and Jessica?"

Dean threw his hands up, frustrated and just as clueless as Sam and Hannah were. The three climbed inside the Impala where Sam continued to ask, "Well, I mean, has it come back or has it been here the whole time?"

"Sam," Hannah said, snapping his attention. "We don't know, okay? It could be something else entirely."

"Hannah's right... as usual," Dean said as he pulled out of his parking spot. "We need gas."

"Well, those people are in danger," Sam reminded them. "We have to get them out of that house.

"And we will," Dean grumbled.

"No, I mean _now_," Sam stressed.

"And how you gonna do that, huh? You got a story that she's gonna believe?" Dean demanded. He slowed down the car when they reached the gas station.

"Then what are we supposed to do?" Sam looked at Dean and Hannah expectantly.

"Hannah, would go in there and pay?" Dean asked after she climbed out of the backseat. He handed her some cash then stopped her before she could go too far. "And some granola bars. Maybe some chips... hey, could you get some gum too?"

"Would you like a liter of soda to go with that? Maybe some porn mags too?" Hannah questioned.

Dean rolled his eyes and let her go. Hannah shook her head and entered the gas station. After paying for their gas, she browsed the snacks section before grabbing three water bottles, granola bars, and a pack of gum.

Sam was sitting on the trunk of the Impala alone when she finished. Hannah handed him a granola bar which he accepted. She put the other things she bought in the backseat of the car before moving to stand next to Sam.

"Where's Dean?" Hannah asked, taking a bite out of her own granola bar.

"Bathroom," Sam answered quietly. "Dean, he... he just told me that he carried me out of our burning house."

"Really?" Hannah widened her eyes in surprise. "Well, why do you look so sad?"

"Do I?" Sam tried to fix his face. "I just never knew that is all."

Hannah reached up to touch his shoulder. "Listen, we _will_ save those people, Sam."

"And if we don't?"

"We will."

"How are you so confident?"

"Um, have we ever _not _saved anyone on a hunt? We got this, Sam."

"I guess you're right," Sam chuckled then nudged her. "As usual like Dean said."

"Speaking of him, you said he's in the bathroom?" Hannah asked. When Sam nodded, she walked around to the corner where she found Dean standing in front of the bathroom. She opened to her mouth, but no words formed when she heard his voice.

"I don't know what to do." His voice cracked. "So, whatever you're doing, if you could get here. _Please_. I need your help, Dad."

He snapped his phone shut, and stood there with his back facing Hannah, his entire body shuddering. Was he _crying? _How could she not realize how much this trip truly affected him? Her heart ached again and she couldn't stop herself from calling out his name.

Dean whirled, his eyes red and his cheeks damp with tears. He wiped away his tears angrily. Hannah walked over to him until there was a small distance between them. There were no words she could say that could comfort him, but she didn't need to. Hannah wrapped her arms around Dean and pulled him close. He stiffened and didn't make any move to hug her. She loosened her hold, only to tighten it when Dean suddenly enveloped her in his arms. He buried his face in the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

Butterflies fluttered in her belly. It felt so _good _to be in his arms, to have their bodies so close to one another. When it lingered for too long, Dean released her. She looked up at him, her face warm. His own cheeks were a little pink.

"This—" Dean gestured back and forth between them. "_Never_ happened."

"Right. You hate chickflick moments," Hannah remembered, twirling a lock of her hair. "Want to get some pie?"

Dean tilted his head, frowning. "Um..."

"It'll make you feel better."

"Hannah, we have to talk to my dad's old friends and—"

"Let Sam do it. Are you _really_ turning down pie?"

"Are _you_ really skipping out on a job?"

Hannah rolled her eyes. "I'm not 'skipping' out on a job. I just think you need to, you know, feel better emotionally before we really dive into this case."

He nodded, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket. After a minute, Dean admitted, "I _could_ use some pie."

She grinned and they walked back to the car together. Sam pushed himself off the Impala and climbed inside after them.

"Sam," Hannah called, leaning forward.

"Huh?" He twisted around in his seat to face her.

"Could you do us a favor and talk to your dad's friend... without us?"

"Why?" Sam asked, bemused.

Hannah glanced at Dean then smiled at Sam. "Just _trust us_ on this."

* * *

After dropping Sam off at John's old garage, Hannah and Dean ended up at a diner called Miss J's. It claimed to bake the best pies in Lawrence. "I'll be the judge of that," Dean declared as they sat at the long counter.

Not long after they sat down, an older waitress, probably in her forties, from behind the counter came over to them. She was tall and pale, with huge dark eyes and long, dark brown hair falling in tousled ringlets. Her nametag read _Jackie _in cursive. "What can I get for you two?" she asked.

"A slice of apple pie for me," Dean decided, smirking at her.

"We're all out of apple pie, honey," Jackie told him.

"Cherry then," he said without a beat.

"And you, sweetheart?" She turned to Hannah.

"A slice of chocolate cake, please."

The waitress smiled, her smile so infectious it made Hannah smile too. "Of course. Just sit down and I'll bring it over to you."

"We come for pie and you order cake?" Dean asked, his expression wholly unimpressed.

Hannah rolled her eyes. "Who says I can't get cake?"

"That's like going to Waffle House and ordering pancakes."

"Next time we go to Waffle House, I'm going to do just that."

He stared at her, then shook his head with a short laugh.

They didn't wait too long for their desserts. Hannah giggled as Dean practically drooled at the sight of his cherry pie. She licked her lips when she was given her slice of chocolate cake, with chocolate syrup melting off it. Hannah used her fork to eat a small bite. She closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth and sweet taste. God, she hadn't eaten so chocolatey and delicious in a long time. An unfamiliar sound escaped Hannah's throat, and she opened her eyes, startled by the noise.

"Did you just _moan_?" Dean laughed.

"I take it you like it?" Jackie asked, smiling.

Hannah could only nod, trying to hide her embarrassment by shoving another bite of chocolate cake in her mouth. Dean took his first bite of his pie and made the same noise as Hannah.

"How do you like your pie?"

"Lady, this is best pie I've ever eaten—and I've eaten _a lot_ of pie," Dean praised. "It's like an orgasm in my mouth."

"Dean!" Hannah gasped, through a mouthful of pie.

Jackie laughed. "That wouldn't be the first time I heard that." She looked back and forth at them before flashing them a sly grin, one that reminded Hannah of Dean. "Well, I'm just glad you two _lovebirds_ enjoy my baking. Not many people have dates at my shabby old diner."

"We're not—" Hannah tried to say, but Dean interrupted with, "You own this place?"

"You're looking at Miss J," she confirmed, nodding. "You want to take home some pie, honey?"

Dean nodded eagerly. As the woman went to retrieve Dean another slice of pie, Hannah's phone began to ring.

"Hey, Sam," Hannah answered, after flipping it open. "Did you find anything?"

"_Not much, except that Dad went to see a palm reader after Mom died_," Sam replied. "_Where are you guys, anyway?_"

"We're going to leave soon. Just write down all the names of psychics in town."

"_Fine, just hurry up_."

"Tell him to stop acting like a bitch and do what you told him to do," Dean said.

"_Tell Dean to stop acting like a jerk_," Sam retorted before hanging up.

Hannah snapped her phone shut and repeated Sam's words to Dean. He rolled his eyes, but brightened the minute Jackie returned with a whole takeout container of pie. Hannah was about to pull out her wallet when Dean stopped her.

"I'll pay," he said, nudging her with his shoulder. "I owe you for earlier."

"You don't owe me anything," Hannah replied.

Dean gazed at her, his eyes searching hers. With some effort, Hannah tore her eyes away from his gaze and followed him and Jackie to the cash register. Dean seemed so pleased with his pie that he told Jackie to keep the change and waved goodbye as they left her bakery.

"I like her," Dean said to Hannah as they headed back to the Impala.

* * *

"Alright, so there are a few psychics and palm readers in town," Sam informed them. Hannah and the boys were parked nearby a payphone, standing around Sam who had a phone book with all the psychics' names underlined in pen. "There's someone named El Divino. There's, uh..."

He paused, laughing. Hannah peered at the name he was reading and giggled.

"The Mysterious Missouri Moseley?" she read, sharing an amused look with Sam.

"Wait, wait. Missouri Moseley?" Dean repeated, straightening.

"What?" Sam looked up from the phone book.

"That's a psychic?" Dean asked.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I guess so," Sam replied, puzzled.

"In Dad's journal..." Dean murmured as he searched his duffel bag for John's journal. He pulled it out and flipped to the first page. "Here, look at this. First page, first sentence, read that."

"'I went to Missouri'..." Sam read. His eyes widened. "'And I learned the truth'."

"I always thought he meant the state." Dean shrugged. "Does it have an address?"

They arrived at Missouri's house shortly, and with the door unlocked, they waited in the living room. Hannah could hear voices, so she assumed the psychic was busy with a customer. _He's on edge,_ Hannah realized after watching Dean bounce his knee anxiously. His eyes weren't truly focused on the magazine he was reading either. Just when Dean leaned back and tossed the magazine back on the coffee table, she heard a sweet, soft spoken voice coming down the hall.

"Alright, there. Don't you worry 'bout a thing. Your wife is crazy about you," assured the psychic. The man thanked her and Missouri shut the door behind him. "Whew. Poor bastard. His woman is cold-banging the gardener."

Hannah's jaw slackened while Dean chuckled. "Why didn't you tell him?" she asked, surprised.

"People don't come here for the truth. They come for good news," Missouri replied, then started down the hall. She paused and turned to them expectantly. "Well? Sam, Dean, and Hannah, come on already. I ain't got all day."

The three exchanged glances before standing to rising out of their seats and following the psychic in her old-fashioned back room. Hannah smiled and opened her mouth to compliment her home, but Missouri beat her to it.

"Thank you. That's kind of you to say," Missouri told her. Sam and Dean looked in Hannah's direction, both confused. "Well, let me look at you," she laughed. "Oh, you boys grew up handsome." She pointed her finger at Dean. "And you were one goofy-looking kid, too."

Sam smirked, while Hannah suppressed her laughter.

"Sam." Missouri took his hand in her hands. She stared up at him, her eyes warm. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry about your girlfriend and your father... he's missing?"

"How'd you know all that?" Sam asked, watching her warily.

"Well, you were just thinking it just now," she replied.

"Psychics are also telepaths," Hannah explained to Sam and Dean.

Missouri nodded. "You're friends with that Torres girl, aren't you?" When Hannah confirmed it, Missouri shook her head. "We crossed paths once. If she didn't smoke so much reefer, she'd be one of the best psychics around."

"Her visions are pretty amazing," Hannah remarked, remembering the first time she witnessed Magda have a vision.

"Well, where is he? My dad?" Dean questioned, and Hannah shot him a sheepish smile. They were here to stop whatever was haunting Jenny and her family, not talk about Hannah's best friend. "Is he okay?"

"I don't know," Missouri answered.

"Don't know?" Dean echoed sharply. "Well, you're supposed to be a psychic, right?"

"Boy, you see me sawing some bony tramp in half? You think I'm a magician?" Missouri blazed, startling Dean. He opened his mouth, attempting to explain himself, but the psychic cut him off. "I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I can't just pull facts out of thin air."

When Dean didn't speak, she gestured for them to sit down on her couch. Hannah sat sandwiched between them and was shifting in her seat when Missouri suddenly snapped at Dean, "Boy, you put your foot on my coffee table, I'm 'a whack you with a spoon!"

"I didn't do anything," Dean protested.

"But you were thinking about it," Missouri retorted.

Sam stared at her with an awed look on his face. He quickly snapped out of it and leaned forward. "Okay. So, our dad—when did you first meet him?" Sam asked the psychic.

"He came for a reading a few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark," Missouri answered. "I guess you could say I drew back the curtains for him."

"What about the fire?" Dean questioned. There something hopeful about his tone. "Do you know about what killed our mom?"

"A little." Missouri shifted in her seat. "Your daddy took me to your house. He was hoping I could sense the echoes, the fingerprints of this thing."

"And could you?" Sam inquired.

"I..." Missouri shook her head, reluctant to speak.

"What was it?" Hannah asked.

"I don't know," Missouri admitted softly. "Oh, but it was evil... So, you think something is back in that house?"

Sam nodded, clenching his jaw. "Definitely."

"I don't understand," Missouri murmured, almost to herself.

"What?" Hannah and Sam both asked.

"I haven't been back inside, but I've been keeping an eye on the place, and it's been quiet. No sudden deaths, no freak accidents," Missouri explained to them. "Why is it acting up now?"

"I don't know. But Dad going missing and Jessica dying and now this house all happening at once—it just feels like something's starting," Sam told her.

"That's a comforting thought," Dean muttered. He stood and looked at the psychic. "Think you could check out the house for us? See if you could sense what's wrong with it?"

Missouri nodded and went to retrieve some things. She paused and called Hannah over to help carry some of her things.

"That amulet of yours—where'd you get it from?" Missouri asked quietly.

"Oh, this?" Hannah lifted her hamsa amulet, rubbing it between her thumb and index finger. "Dean gave it to me as a birthday gift. Why? Is there something wrong with it?"

"No, it's just this amulet of yours... it radiates something incredible," Missouri said, staring at it. She looked up at Hannah's face. "Have you had Torres look at it?" Hannah shook her head. "Listen to me, honey. You go see Torres about this amulet and call me afterwards. Understand?"

"I understand," Hannah said, then followed her out of the house. This amulet was getting stranger by the minute. First the old Native American man mentioned something about her amulet, now Missouri?

Where exactly did Dean get this thing?

* * *

When Jenny opened the front door, her eyes widened at the sight of them. "What are you guys doing here?" she asked, glancing between them.

"Hey, Jenny. This is our friend, Missouri," Hannah introduced.

"If it's not too much trouble, we were hoping to show her the old house," Dean added, giving her a charming smile. "You know, for old time's sake."

"You know, this isn't a good time. I'm kind of busy," Jenny said, bringing Richie closer. She sounded scared, and Hannah guessed something spooked her out in the house.

"Listen, Jenny, it's important," Dean started, but hissed in pain when Missouri slapped him upside his head.

"Give the poor girl a break, can't you see she's upset?" Missouri upbraided. She turned to Jenny, and said kindly, "Forgive this boy, he means well, he's just not the sharpest tool in the shed, but hear me out."

Dean looked down at Hannah, indignant over Missouri's words. "_Can you believe her?_" he mouthed. She patted his shoulder, hoping to quell his irritation.

"About what?" Jenny asked, interested.

"About this house."

"What are you talking about?"

"I think you know what I'm talking about. You think there's something in this house, something that wants to hurt your family. Am I mistaken?"

Jenny gazed about them, suspicion plain on her face. "Who _are_ you?"

"We're people who can help, who can stop this thing," Missouri told her. "But you're gonna have to trust us, just a little."

Reluctantly, Jenny stepped aside and let them in. Missouri led Hannah, Sam, and Dean upstairs to, where Hannah assumed, was Sari's bedroom.

"If there's a dark energy around here, this room should be the center of it," Missouri told them.

"Why?" Sam wondered.

"This used to be your nursery, Sam. This is where it all happened," she replied.

Hannah and Sam both looked up at the ceiling. For a moment, Hannah could see Jessica pinned to the ceiling, her body bursting into flames as she let out a silent scream. Her heart grew heavy from the awful memory, and she snuck a glance at Sam. He seemed to be imagining the same thing.

She brushed her fingers against his, and Sam ducked his head to see her hand lingering near his. They locked eyes, and Hannah offered him a wan smile. Sam stared at her, grief etched in his eyes yet he smiled back. _We'll get through this_, seemed to be the unspoken message passed between them before turning back to Missouri who undoubtedly was scolding Dean again.

"I don't know if you boys should be disappointed or relieved, but this ain't the thing that took your mom," Missouri announced, turning to face them.

"Wait, are you sure?" Sam asked, and the psychic nodded. "How do you know?"

"It isn't the same energy I felt the last time I was here," she explained, walking towards the walk-in closet. "It's something different."

"What is it?" Dean inquired.

"Not it." Missouri opened the closet. "Them. There's more than one spirit in this place."

"What are they doing here?" Hannah asked.

"They're here because of what happened to Sam and Dean's family," Missouri said, then turned to the boys. "You see, all those years ago, real evil came to you. It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds. And sometimes, wounds get infected."

_Of course_. How had Hannah not figured it out sooner? Flickering lights? Scratching on the walls? If this had been any other ordinary case, Hannah was certain she would have figured out they were dealing with a poltergeist, but with Sam's theory that this _thing _was the creature that killed his mom and girlfriend, it only made Hannah forget herself.

"I don't understand," Sam said, shaking his head.

"She means we're dealing with a poltergeist," Hannah answered, crossing her arms. "Missouri, you said there was more than one spirit."

"There is." Missouri went back over to the closet. "I just can't quite make out the second one."

"Well, one thing's for damn sure—nobody's dying in this house ever again," Dean spoke steadfastly. "So, whatever is here, how do we stop it?"

Missouri shared a knowing look with Hannah before leading them downstairs to the kitchen. Since Hannah was already familiar with poltergeists, Missouri had her and Dean prepare bags to purify the house. Sam stood nearby, silent and brooding.

"So, what is all this stuff, anyway?" Dean questioned, sniffing one of the ingredients.

"Angelica Root, Van Van oil, crossroad dirt, a few other odds and ends," Missouri listed.

"Yeah? What are we supposed to do with it?" Dean was still working on his first bag, while Hannah had already moved onto her second.

"We're gonna put them inside the walls in the north, south, east, west corners on each floor of the house," she replied.

"We'll be punching holes in the dry wall. Jenny's gonna love that," Dean remarked sardonically.

"She'll live," Missouri pointed out.

Sam leaned over one of the chairs and asked, "And this'll destroy the spirits?"

"It should purify the house completely. We'll each take a floor, but we work fast." Hannah shot Dean an annoyed look when he licked the crossroad dirt off his fingers, shaking her head as he wiped it off his tongue. "Once the spirits realize what we're up to, things are gonna get bad."

They finished the purifying bags shortly afterwards, and Missouri guided Jenny and her kids out of the house. Sam took a hammer and Hannah reached for a small axe, but her hand landed on top of Dean's.

"I want the axe," Dean stated.

"So do I," Hannah replied, reaching for it again. "Take the hammer."

"Princess—" Dean started, stopping her.

"_Don't_ call me that."

"Let me have the axe."

"I bought you pie!"

"No you didn't! _I_ bought it, remember?"

"Guys," snapped Sam. "Poltergeist, remember?"

Hannah managed to grab the axe and run upstairs. She heard heavy footsteps and whirled, but sighed in relief when she saw that it was Sam.

"You go to Jenny's room. I'll go to Sari's," Hannah decided, and Sam nodded, disappearing down the hall.

She approached Sari's room warily before quickly striking down the wall with her small axe. _Oops_, Hannah thought when she made a bigger hole than she meant. She tossed her bag in the wall then headed out the door, but jumped back when the door slammed shut in front of her. Hannah lifted her axe, about to cut down the door when something hit her in the back of the head. She fell, dropping her axe to clutch her head.

When Hannah raised her head, she spotted broken pieces on the floor beside her. Had a lamp hit her? She pulled her hand away and winced at the blood on her fingers. Hannah shrieked and dodged a nightstand tossed her way. Swiftly, Hannah raised her axe and cut a hole near the doorknob and unlocked it. She narrowly dodged a wired hanger thrown at her as she opened the door and ran out.

Escaping the mini tornado in Sari's room, Hannah doubled over as she tried to catch her breath. She almost collapsed from how lightheaded she felt. Hannah froze when she heard choking. _Sam!_ She thought, panicked.

Hannah ran towards Jenny room, coming to a stumbling halt when she saw Sam on the floor with a cord wrapped around his throat. Reacting quickly, Hannah grabbed Sam's purifying bag and created a hole in the wall with her axe. She tossed the bag inside, and the cord loosened around his neck. She dropped her axe and rushed to his side, unraveled the cord from his neck.

Sam gasped for air, and Hannah wrapped her arms around him. She looked up when she heard footsteps, noticing Dean standing in the doorway, wide-eyed at the sight of Sam still panting.

"What the hell happened?" Dean demanded.

"The poltergeist tried to kill Sam with this." Hannah lifted the cord to show him. Dean glanced at the hole then back at Sam. He went to Sam's other side and pulled him into a hug.

"Your hands," Dean said, when he pulled away from Sam.

She looked down, flexing her reddened hands. "It's just blood." Dean widened his eyes at her reply, and Hannah hastily explained herself. "_My _blood. The poltergeist hit me in the head with a lamp."

Before Dean could respond, Sam pushed himself off the ground. He brushed off her and Dean's concerns, assuring them that he was fine now. They went downstairs, Dean helping Sam who was still weak. Hannah herself was still feeling light headed, but she said nothing. The kitchen was trashed when they reached it, and Hannah looked at Dean, raising her eyebrows at him.

"It was the poltergeist," he said defensively. Hannah didn't say anything, and instead searched the cabinets for a cup before filling it with water.

"Sam, drink some water," Hannah instructed, handing him the cup. She returned to the sink and scrubbed her hands clean with soap. "Dean, you should check on Missouri."

"Why should I do it?" Dean asked, frowning.

"Because she likes you," she replied, turning off the sink.

"Right. Just as much as cats likes dogs," Dean snorted, but headed to the basement anyway.

Hannah turned back to Sam, watching him as he finished his cup of water. He looked at her and sighed. "You shouldn't fret over me, Hannah."

"I have to. You're always getting hurt," Hannah said, crossing her arms.

"So are you," fired back Sam. "I mean, the back of your head is bleeding."

She bit her lip, knowing he was right. Gingerly, Hannah reached over to feel the cut on the back of her head. She winced and pulled her hand away, but was relieved to see that the bleeding had stopped.

Sam set his cup down and told her, "When we're done, I'll fix you up."

"Hey, that's my line," Hannah said and Sam laughed lightly. Dean and Missouri arrived in the kitchen a little while later, with Dean helping her to walk.

"You sure this is over?" Sam asked Missouri.

"I'm sure," she answered confidently. "Why? Why do you ask?

"Never mind," Sam sighed. "It's nothing, I guess."

Hannah frowned, about to ask what was wrong when she heard Jenny and her kids enter the house. Her insides twisted in apprehension, afraid of Jenny's reaction to her destroyed kitchen.

"We're home," called Jenny. Her smile faltered the moment she set foot in the kitchen. "What happened?"

"We're sorry!" Hannah blurted out.

"Um, we'll pay for all this," Sam added, sheepish. Hannah didn't miss the confused look Dean shot Sam.

"Don't you worry. Dean's gonna clean up this mess," Missouri told Jenny. Dean made no move to clean up, however, and Missouri scowled at him. "Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Get the mop."

Dean grumbled something as he walked pass Hannah, and Missouri exclaimed, "And don't cuss at me!"

Sam and Hannah snickered as they left the kitchen so Sam could fix the cut on the back of Hannah's head.

* * *

"Alright, so tell me again—what are we still doing here?" Dean asked from the driver's seat. Hannah and the boys were parked outside of Jenny's place. Sam had insisted they stake-out the place before leaving Lawrence.

"I don't know. I just..." Sam struggled to articulate himself. "I still have a bad feeling."

"Why? Missouri did her whole Zelda Rubinstein thing. The house should be clean, it should be over," Dean said.

"Yeah, well, probably," Sam agreed, leaning back. "But I just want to make sure, that's all."

"Yeah, well, problem is I could be sleeping in a bed right now," Dean complained.

Hannah understood Sam's reluctance. Jenny's home was still plagued with death and evil. She looked out the window to the house. She remembered Missouri's words from earlier, just before they dropped her off at her house. _"You have a heart that yearns. Don't worry. It won't yearn for much longer."_

She had no idea what Missouri meant, but it made heat rush to her face. Did it mean Dean would return her—?

"Guys, look!" Sam suddenly shouted. Hannah leaned forward, squinting before widening her eyes. She saw Jenny standing in front of her bedroom window, screaming and banging against the glass.

They scrambled out of the car and rushed inside. Dean instructed her and Sam to get the kids while he went to save Jenny. Hannah separated from the boys after running upstairs, heading to Richie's room where the toddler was crying. She murmured soothing words as she ran to Sari's room where Sam stood in horror. Hannah gasped when she laid eyes on what stood in Sari's closet.

Snapping herself out of it, Hannah shouted at Sam, "Get Sari!"

Sam nodded at her before entering the bedroom, telling Sari not to look at the figure on fire. They quickly descended the stairs, and when they neared the door, Sam put Sari to her feet and told them to run. Hannah took Sari's hand and was about to lead her and her brother to the Impala where Jenny and Dean stood when something suddenly grabbed Sam by the leg and hauled him backwards.

"_Sam!"_ she screamed. Hannah looked back at the door, wanting to run in there, but she had no weapons and she needed to guide these kids back to safety.

Jenny thanked Hannah the moment they reached the Impala, taking Richie from her arms and holding him tight.

"Where's Sam?" Dean asked Hannah.

"The poltergeist. I-it has him!" Hannah told him, then gestured to the trunk. "Get something. _Anything_! It's throwing him around like a ragdoll in there!"

Dean opened the trunk and handed her a rifle before picking up an axe. Slamming it shut, they sprinted over to the door and just as Dean raised his axe, Hannah stopped him.

"Let me do it," Hannah urged. Too much in a rush to argue, they traded weapons and Hannah chopped a giant hole in the door with one strike.

"Jesus, Hannah!" Dean exclaimed, as she chopped the door down two more times before successfully making an entrance inside the house. They ran inside, calling for Sam.

They came to a halt when they saw a figure on fire approaching Sam. Dean raised his rifle, ready to shoot, but Sam shouted, "_No, don't!"_

"What? _Why?"_ Dean yelled, his rifle still aiming at the flaming spirit.

"Because I know who it is," Sam answered, and there was an aching sadness in his tone. "I can see her now."

Slowly, the flames ceased. Standing before them was a woman, with long blonde hair and blue eyes, and dressed in a white nightgown. Hannah's breath was caught in her throat as she realized who this was.

"_Mom_?" Dean whispered.

Mary approached him, her smile soft as she gazed about her son. "Dean," she murmured, then drifted over to her second son. "Sam."

Sam smiled at her, but could barely keep it up as tears slid down his face. Dean wasn't much better, his eyes wet with tears that he refused to shed. Mary's smile faded the longer she considered Sam.

"I'm sorry," she told him.

"For what?" Sam asked, his voice trembling.

She said nothing, and instead stood in front of Hannah much to her surprise. Mary lifted her hand to touch Hannah's face. She hadn't even noticed her own tears sliding down her cheeks.

"Thank you," Mary said. She locked eyes with her sons one last time before turning away from them. "You. Get out of my house… and stay away from my children."

Her body became engulfed in flames, the fire shooting up and spreading across the ceiling before disappearing. Hannah bit her lip to keep from crying more, but it was pointless. She buried her face in her hands and couldn't conceal her sobs.

Arms wrapped around her, and a hand rubbed her back. "Now why are you crying?" asked Sam, laughing joylessly.

"I just... it's sad is all!" she managed say between sobs. "Your mom is gone."

"I know," Sam sighed, embracing her tighter. "But it's over now."

_I know_, Hannah thought. As her cries dwindled, she turned her head and saw Dean still staring up at the ceiling where his mother disappeared to. She untangled herself from Sam and walked over to Dean.

"You were right, as usual. We got through this," Dean said, still staring at the ceiling. He finally looked down at her. She could not comprehend how he refused to spill any tears. "You can stop crying."

Hannah hit his arm, though it was half-hearted as she was wiping her tear-stained cheeks. "You're such an ass."

"And you're such a cry baby," Dean retorted, but pulled her into an embrace.

* * *

The next morning was peaceful compared to the hectic night Hannah and the boys endured. Missouri arrived around eight to make sure there were no more lingering spirits. As she did that, Jenny went down to the basement to retrieve Dean and Sam's old photos.

Hannah and Dean stood by the trunk of the Impala, looking through them. Jenny watched, a smile on her face as Dean studied each photo. Dean would shoot Hannah an annoyed look each time she awed at a photo of him or Sam as babies.

"Thanks for these," Dean told Jenny, smiling gratefully.

"Don't thank me, they're yours," Jenny replied.

Dean was about to put the trunk of photos away, but Hannah stopped him, wanting to look at more. She couldn't suppress her smile the more she looked at the photos where Dean was with his parents. It was the happiest she had ever seen John Winchester.

She paused when she found a particular photo. Dean was a toddler in this one, and was surrounded by two women. One was Mary, but Dean sat on a different woman's lap. The woman looked familiar, with her dark brown eyes and long, tousled black hair. Dean let out a whistle when he peered at the photo.

"Who's the babe?" he asked. Hannah shrugged and flipped the photo over.

"'Dean with Mommy and Aunt Jackie'," Hannah read before flipping it back so she could stare at the photo again. "Aunt Jackie... Oh my God, Dean! It's _Jackie__! _The owner of Miss J's!"

Dean took the picture from her and studied it. He furrowed his brows. "But… Mom never had a sister."

"She doesn't look like your mom," Hannah remarked, regarding the photo. "She looks more like your dad."

"Dad never mentioned a sister... or other family at all," Dean murmured, almost to himself. He shoved the photo in the back of his jeans. "We need to see her. Sam! You ready?"

Sam nodded from the porch and stood, walking over to them. Hannah's whole body was buzzing with excitement. Dean and Sam weren't alone. They were about to reunite with a woman, their _aunt_, who could possibly answer questions about their past.

"Don't be strangers!" Missouri exclaimed, after Jenny thanked them.

"We won't!" Hannah assured her from the backseat of the Impala. "Now let's go!"

"What are we in a hurry for?" Sam asked, confused.

Dean took the photo out of his pocket and handed it to Sam. "See the woman next to Mom?"

"Yeah."

"Well, turns out she's our aunt."

"_What_?" Sam was shocked. "What—I—how—I don't _understand!_ Mom never had a sister and Dad never mentioned one."

"But we're thinking it might be Dad's sister. I mean, she looks like him, doesn't she?" Dean replied, driving the car a little faster.

"But _why_ wouldn't he tell us about her?" Sam asked, exasperated.

"Why won't he tell you guys where he is? Why didn't he help you guys with this hunt?" Hannah asked rhetorically. "Your dad is a man of secrets. I wouldn't be surprised if you guys had another sibling or something."

"Shut up," Dean snapped. "Dad keeps things to himself for a reason, okay?"

Sam and Hannah said nothing else. It was no secret John was the most cryptic man Hannah ever met, but he was still Dean and Sam's dad, and she knew she was close to insulting him. Normally, Sam would back her up, but he didn't seem to be in the mood to argue with his brother about their dad.

They reached Miss J's seven minutes later and hurried out of the car. The girl at the cash register seemed alarmed at the sight of them. "Um, sir, there's a line," she pointed out.

"I know, but we just want to see the owner," Sam replied.

"Yeah, where is she?" Dean asked.

"Ms. Winchester isn't here today," she answered.

"But, she was here the other day!" Hannah said.

"She's the owner," she told them, as if they were slow. "She comes in once or twice a week. I could get you the manager, if you'd like."

"You wouldn't happen to know where she is, would you?" Hannah asked the girl kindly.

She shook her head and offered to get the manager, but the manager was of no help either. He had no idea where Jackie was, and looked at them strangely when they asked if he had her phone number.

"Next time, huh?" Dean said as they headed back to the Impala.

"Yeah, next time," Sam agreed glumly.


	10. Asylum

**Author's Note: **I cannot express how much you guys love my OC. Also, you guys won't be seeing Jackie or her orgasmic pies anytime soon, but she will definitely return. Special thanks to everyone for following and favoriting. Lastly, thank you _grapejuice101, Rosalind, PadfootCc, bjq, Hannah R, NightlyLexie, wideawakepastmidnight_, _Spirit Kiss_, _Evangeline Carter_, _Kat_, and another guest for the awesome reviews!

Please enjoy and review this chapter!

**10.**

**Asylum**

Normally, Hannah liked to keep her showers short. The motel showers weren't the most pleasant experience, but unlike Dean who could go two days without showering, Hannah showered twice a day. For once, the shower felt nice. It reminded her of summer rain.

She remembered one weekend in July, when she was eight or nine. John had dropped off Dean and Sam at her house. Rain fell every hour, but that hadn't stopped her or the boys from playing outside in the junkyard as warm droplets of water showered over them. It was a fond memory of hers, but Hannah also recalled becoming ill with the flu after the weekend passed.

Eventually, Hannah turned off the shower and stepped out, goosebumps prickling her skin from the draft in the bathroom. Steam covered the mirror, and with one swipe of her hand, she could see her reflection. Hannah looked at herself for a moment, then turned away to towel herself dry.

She was stepping out of the bathroom in her oversized t-shirt and pajama pants when she heard Sam say in an exasperated voice, "The man can barely work a _toaster_, Dean."

"Who can barely work a toaster?" asked Hannah.

Dean looked up from Sam's laptop and grinned at her. "I just got a text from Dad. He sent us coordinates for our next job."

"Sam, this is good news!" Hannah said, surprised but enthusiastic.

"Oh, really?" Sam turned back to his brother. "Did it have caller ID?"

"No, it said 'unknown'," Dean replied. Hannah bit her lip to keep from frowning. Couldn't John at least send them a message reassuring them that he was okay?

"Well, where do the coordinates point to?" Sam questioned, still annoyed.

"That's the interesting part," Dean murmured as he read the screen. "Rockford, Illinois."

"And that's interesting _how?_" Sam asked.

"I'm looking at the local Rockford paper," explained Dean. He gestured for them to see, but only Hannah came over, sitting beside him and peered at the screen on the laptop. "This cop, Walter Kelly, comes home from his shift, shoots his wife, then puts the gun in his mouth—blows his brains out. And earlier that night, Kelly and his partner responded to a call at the Roosevelt Asylum."

Sam didn't seem terribly interested. "Okay, I'm not following. What has this have to do with us?"

Dean gave Hannah the laptop as he got up and reached for his duffel bag, pulling out John's journal. "Dad earmarked the same asylum in the journal. Let's see—" He flipped a couple of pages until he found the right one. "—Here: seven unconfirmed sightings, two deaths—until last week at least. I think this is where he wants us to go."

Hannah stared at him, unable to ignore the hopeful gleam in his eyes.

"This is a job," Sam realized. He shook his head, scoffing. "Dad wants us to work a job."

"Well, maybe he's there," Hannah proposed, putting the laptop aside. "Maybe we'll meet up with him."

"I envy your optimism, Hannah," Sam told her, sighing. "But maybe he isn't there. I mean, he could be sending us there, by ourselves, to hunt this thing."

"Who cares?" Dean exclaimed, closing the journal and putting the laptop away. "If he wants us there, it's good enough for me!"

"This doesn't strike you guys as weird?" Sam questioned, doubtful. "The texting? The coordinates?"

"Sam, Dad's telling us to go somewhere," Dean said, his tone implying that this was no longer up for discussion. "We're _going_."

Hannah drew her eyebrows together when she noticed Dean packing away his things. She stood and went to grab his shoulder, but then he suddenly spun around and they collided into each other. Hannah stumbled backwards and Dean watched her, baffled.

"Sorry," Hannah said, embarrassed by what happened. "We're leaving _now_?"

"Yeah," Dean replied, walking around her. "We've gotta haul ass if we're gonna meet up with Dad."

"Can't we go in the morning?" Hannah asked, biting her lip.

Dean turned and immediately scowled. "Don't you go making that face at me, _Princess_."

"What face?"

"The one where you pout and use those doe eyes. It won't work on me."

"Doesn't sound like it," commented Sam from the other side of the room.

"But I'm already in my pajamas!" whined Hannah.

"Well, tough shit. We're going," Dean decided, hefting his duffel bag over his broad shoulder.

She turned to Sam, hoping he'd object to leaving, but he was already packing his things much to her chagrin. Hannah shot them both dirty looks before grudgingly packing her own things.

* * *

The ride to Illinois was spent in silence, mostly because Hannah had dozed off on the ride there, but not that she minded. She was having an awesome dream where she was doing the Cell Block Tango with Catherine Zeta-Jones.

"You were mumbling in your sleep," Sam told her, when she woke up.

"You would be too if you knew the lyrics to _Chicago_," Hannah yawned, stretching her arms over her head.

It took only an hour to figure out where Officer Kelly's partner would be tonight. When Hannah learned that Daniel Gunderson had been visiting going to a bar every night since his partner's suicide, her heart panged with pity. The two had probably been close. Hannah wasn't sure what she'd do if anyone she loved were to just suddenly _die_. She didn't even want to think about it.

Dean concocted a rather devious plan to get more information about Kelly's death. He would pester the man then Sam would chase him off, winning the cop's trust and getting him drunk enough to slip out more info.

"You coming?" Dean asked her, when they reached the bar.

"No, I'll wait here," Hannah told them, perching herself on the hood of the Impala.

"But it's dark," he pointed out.

"That's what happens when the sun goes down, Dean," said Sam, rather sarcastically, before entering the bar.

Dean lingered for a moment, and Hannah smiled. "You're worried," she realized, "about _me_."

"I'm worried about you doing something stupid while we're gone," Dean retorted, turning away from her.

"Excuse you, I had a 4.0 GPA in high school, so I highly doubt I'd do anything—" Hannah stopped speaking when she heard the doors to the bar swing open, and Dean disappearing from her sight. She rolled her eyes and leaned back. Hannah looked up at the sky. She couldn't spot any constellations, but then again, they were in the city.

The doors to the bar opened minutes later. Dean sat beside her on the edge of his car. He watched her as her hair stirred in the cool breeze that passed by. Hannah brushed some hair behind her ear, faltering at his gaze. She could take his jokes and teasing, not his contemplative stares.

He turned away from her, but spoke up. "Has Bobby ever disappointed you?"

She shrugged. "I mean… he promised to take me to Disneyland, but so far that hasn't happened." Hannah scooted closer, until their thighs touched. "It's John, right?"

"Sam was right," Dean muttered, dropping his head. "You don't think he's…?"

"No," Hannah immediately said. "Your dad's a capable hunter, Dean. He probably found whatever killed your mom's trail and is close."

Dean lifted his head and fixed his eyes on her. He smiled, and Hannah could only wonder how he didn't know how much that affected her. "You're a lot more hopeful than Sam."

"Well, he's a pessimist."

"Compared to you, yeah."

She remembered her hamsa amulet around her neck. "Where did you get this again?" she asked.

"At some hippie store at the edge of Arkansas," he answered unthinkingly. "Why? Thinking about returning it?"

"No, of course not!" Hannah couldn't believe he would even say that. "That old Native American man back in Oklahoma mentioned something about my amulet. So did Missouri. I think something's wrong with it."

Dean frowned as he studied her amulet, but turned to the sound of footsteps approaching them. He pushed himself off the hood of the car when they saw it was Sam.

"You shoved me kind of hard in there, buddy boy," Dean remarked.

"I had to sell it, didn't I?" Sam replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "It's method acting."

"Huh?" Dean was clueless.

"Never mind," Sam sighed.

Hannah gripped the edge of the hood as she leaned forward. "What did you find out?"

"So, Walter Kelly was a good cop," Sam started, his words rushed. "Head of his class, even-keeled, he had a bright future ahead of him."

"What about at home?" Dean asked.

"He and his wife had a few fights, like everybody, but he was mostly smooth sailing. They were even talking about having kids," he continued, and Hannah frowned.

"Alright, so either Kelly had some deep-seated crazy waiting to bust out, or something else did it to him," Dean analyzed, and Sam nodded in agreement. "What did Gunderson tell you about the asylum?"

"A lot," Sam told them vaguely.

"Wow, that's informative," Dean commented, rolling his eyes. "Top of the line info, Sam."

"Shut up." They climbed inside the car and drove back to the motel as Sam explained what Gunderson told him in the bar.

* * *

Hannah rummaged through her duffel bag, searching for some clean clothes to wear. It was a fruitless attempt, though, since all her clothes needed a trip to the laundromat. The cleanest clothes she could find were black skinny jeans worn only half a day, the socks from the night before, and an unused black blouse.

"Can we call a rain check on visiting the asylum?" Hannah asked from the floor.

She had already put on her jeans, but was contemplating whether checking out the asylum in her pajama top—an oversized _Space Jam_ t-shirt. Not her sexiest, but why would she bother going to sleep sexy? Hannah wasn't trying to seduce anybody, and she'd be under the covers anyway so there was no use going to sleep in lingerie.

"Why?" Sam asked, pulling his shirt over his bare shoulders.

The boys often mistook their motel room for a boys' locker room and would usually change right in front of her—except if they had just come out of the shower. Hannah would probably faint if she saw Sam or Dean naked. Heat rushed to her face. She shoved back images of Dean and Sam in their birthday suits.

"Because I have no clean clothes!" she exclaimed, frustrated. "That also means _you_ guys don't have any clean clothes either! So, we _all_ need to wash!"

"Washing takes too long," reminded Sam as he shrugged on his favorite brown hoodie. "Just get dressed, Han. We need to get going."

He grabbed John's journal and left the motel room, leaving Hannah on the floor and Dean getting dressed. She pouted and turned to Dean, still annoyed that she had no clean clothes. Hannah refrained from rolling her eyes when she caught sight of Dean's attire.

"Oh my God! You're freaking Mr. Flannel!" Hannah exclaimed.

"Huh?" Dean barely glanced at her. He was too focused on staring at himself in the mirror.

"You're Mr. Flannel," Hannah repeated. "Does your wardrobe consist _only_ of flannel and plaid?"

Dean did not seem concerned with his clothing choices. "Says the girl who only wears tight sweaters."

Hannah let out an indignant gasp. "I do not!"

He walked over to her, crouching down where she sat and picked up a random shirt out of her duffel bag. It was a sweater, and when he tugged at it, the material barely stretched in his fingers. Dean looked at her expectantly, but Hogwarts would be real the day Hannah would admit to Dean that he was right about something. If anything, _he_ would admit that Hannah was right about something, not the other way around.

She snatched the sweater from Dean's hands and folded it back inside her duffel bag. "What else am I supposed to wear then? All of my clothes need to wash."

A beat passed before Dean stood and went over to his side of the bed where his duffel bag sat. Unzipping it, he pulled out a faded black and white flannel shirt and tossed it at Hannah, the shirt hitting her in the face with one of the buttons on it colliding with her right eye. She pulled it off her head so she could glare him.

"Wear that," Dean replied, zipping his duffel bag up. "Unless you don't feel comfortable wearing some other dude's two-week unwashed _flannel_ shirt."

Hannah quickly realized that he was baiting her.

Still glaring at him, Hannah grabbed her black blouse out of her duffel bag as she pushed herself off the ground. She heard Dean laugh when she shouldered him on her way to the bathroom. Tugging her _Space Jam_ shirt up and off her head, Hannah put on her long-sleeved blouse. Her cleavage was accentuated by the laces on the front of her blouse.

She brought Dean's flannel up to her nose and sniffed it. She scrunched up her nose from the sweaty scent, but shrugged it on. She felt ridiculous with this oversized, smelly, _man_ shirt, but kept it on. When Hannah stepped out of the bathroom, Dean grinned.

"There. Now you're Mrs. Flannel," Dean teased.

"That would mean we're married," Hannah said as she slipped on her boots.

Dean paused as he locked the motel door, looking at her strangely. "_What?_"

"Mr. Flannel... _Mrs. _Flannel."

"No, Sam's Mr. Flannel too."

"I thought he'd be Mr. Plaid."

"We're brothers, so he'd be Mr. Flannel."

"He could be Mr. Plaid too," Hannah said, climbing in the backseat. "What if he met a woman named Ms. Plaid and decided to be progressive and take _her _last name when he married her?"

Sam glanced at her and Dean, frowning in confusion. "_Who _am I getting married to?"

"No one," Dean replied absently. "Look, let's end this stupid conver—"

"Are you wearing Dean's _shirt?_" Sam asked Hannah.

"All of my sweaters need to get washed," Hannah answered defensively. "And this conversation isn't stupid. I don't _want _to be Mrs. Flannel."

Hannah glared at him. "_You're_ the one who called me Mrs. Flannel so I won't stop talking about."

"Fine, fuck! We're married alright! Happy?" Dean exclaimed, his scowl deepening.

"No," Hannah replied. She bit her lip, fighting off her smile. "I want a divorce."

"So do I." The corners of Dean's mouth lifted into a smirk. "We have a lawyer right here."

Their eyes met for a fleeting moment before they burst out laughing. Sam looked distressingly confused and Hannah heard him mutter, "You guys are such _weirdos_."

* * *

Glancing around to make sure they weren't seen, Hannah and the boys climbed over the fence leading to the Roosevelt Asylum. Hannah still found it hard to jump over fences, fearful that her shirt could get caught on the barb wire or she'd land so ungracefully that she might break a bone.

Sam noticed her hesitance, and steadied her when she landed on the ground stumbling. She smiled and thanked him by pinching his cheek. He rolled his eyes at her gesture and led them upstairs to the entrance of the asylum. The asylum was trashed when they entered, with graffiti coating the walls, papers cluttered on the floor, furniture thrown around haphazardly.

"Apparently, the cops chased the kids here," Sam told them. He gestured to a closed, scratched up door. "Into the south wing."

"South wing?" Hannah murmured thoughtfully. She asked for John's journal and Dean gave it to her.

When Dean had first picked her up from Sioux Falls, she had spent most of the drive to Stanford reading John's journal, hoping to see if he left any hints as to where he could be. Hannah found none, but she read lots of interesting things from their previous hunts. His writing was a little messy, but she managed to decipher it.

"In 1972, three kids broke into the south wing and only one survived," Hannah told them after reading the page carefully. "One of the friends went insane and set the place on fire. So, whatever's going on, the south wing seems to be the center of it."

"But if the kids are spelunking the asylum, why aren't there a ton more deaths?" Dean wondered, taking the journal and skimming the page.

She and Sam looked around until he spotted something. Hannah followed his gaze, noticing the broken chains hanging from the door handles.

"Looks like the doors are usually chained," Sam noted, walking over to the broken chains. "Could've been chained up for years."

"Yeah, to keep people out," Hannah said, approaching the ominous doors.

"Or to keep something in," Dean added, glancing at them.

The three exchanged wary looks, but it was ultimately Sam who pushed the doors open. Dean pulled out the EMF and they began exploring the corridor. It was quiet for a moment as they walked down the corridor, but with the eerie atmosphere and lengthy silence, Dean couldn't seem stand it much longer.

"Let me know if you see any dead people, Haley Joel," Dean teased Sam.

"Dude, enough," Sam said, sounding mildly annoyed.

"I'm serious. You gotta be careful, all right? Ghosts are attracted to that whole ESP thing you got going on."

"I told you, it's not ESP! I just have strange vibes sometimes. Weird dreams."

"Like _Final Destination__!"_ Hannah gasped, turning around so she'd walk backwards. "Except no one has died and Death isn't stalking us..."

"So _not _like _Final Destination_?" Sam asked her flatly.

Hannah rolled her eyes. Suddenly, her feet stumbled over a pipe on the ground. She would have fallen flat on her backside if Dean hadn't grabbed her arm and spun her around, holding onto her shoulders with both hands as he steadied her stance. His body was right behind hers. She could feel the heat of his body through their layers of clothes. It was frightening and exciting all at once.

"Don't walk backwards," Dean advised, clapping her shoulders before letting go and walking ahead of her. Hannah made a face behind him, but trailed after them.

"You get any reading on that thing or not?" Sam questioned.

"Nope," Dean answered coolly. "Of course, it doesn't mean no one's home."

"Spirits can't appear during certain hours of the day," Sam reminded them.

"Yeah, the freaks come out at night," Dean commented.

"_The freaks come out at night, the freaks come out at night, the freaks come out at night_," Hannah sang, doing a little dance and twirl around them.

Dean looked at her for a moment, his expression quizzical before rolling his eyes.

"Hey, Sam," Dean said, turning to his brother. "Who do you think is the hotter psychic—Patricia Arquette, Jennifer Love Hewitt, or you?"

Sam scowled and shoved Dean forward, but Dean didn't seem bothered and kept laughing anyway. Hannah flashed Sam a small smile and continued singing and dancing. She stopped when they entered a room that was more of a torture chamber than a hospital. Chairs had belts attached to the arms and foot rests. The medical utensils were rested—_hopefully _it was rust. The floors, however, could not be mistaken for anything but blood.

Dean let out a low whistle. "Electro-shock. Lobotomies. They did some twisted stuff to these people," he remarked as they looked around. "Kinda like my man Jack in _Cuckoo's Nest_."

"I read that book in high school," Hannah said as she drifted over to the electro-shock chair. "Did you?"

"Nah. Just the movie. You've seen the movie right?" Dean asked.

"We watched it after reading the book," she answered, picking up a leather belt then dropping it.

"What do you guys think? Ghosts possessing people?" Dean asked them after a moment.

"Maybe," Sam said absently. "Maybe it's more like Amityville, or the Smurl haunting."

"Spirits driving them insane. It's not too far-fetched," Hannah admitted.

The silence was cut short when Sam spoke up. "Dean, when are we going to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" Dean inquired.

"About the fact that Dad's not here," Sam told him sharply.

Hannah glanced at Dean, remembering their conversation from last night. He had expressed his disappointment in the fact that John hadn't been here when they arrived in Rockford, but he hadn't added much other than that. Hannah guessed he didn't want to lose hope, unlike Sam who saw their dad as unreliable.

"Oh. I see. How about..." Dean pretended to think about it. "Never."

"Dean," she admonished, shooting him a pointed look.

"I'm being serious, man," Sam said, scowling.

"So am I, Sam. Look, he sent us here, so he obviously wants us here," Dean replied, his teasing voice somber now. "We'll pick up the search later."

"It doesn't matter what he wants," snapped Sam. Hannah bit her lip, wishing they wouldn't argue so much.

"Dad could be in trouble, we should be looking for him. We deserve some answers, Dean," Sam said, his voice flaring with barely suppressed anger. "I mean, for Christ's sake, he didn't even tell us about our _aunt_."

Dean stiffened at the mention of their aunt.

"I understand that, Sam," Dean said through clenched teeth. "But he's given us an order."

His arm brush against hers, but she didn't look up. Instead, she picked up a plaque with the name Sanford Ellicott engraved on it. Dean took it from her and turned to show Sam before shoving it in his arms as he walked out.

Sam glared at his back, but held up the plaque and read it. "I just don't get how he can blindly follow his orders," he grumbled. "I mean, I get how some kids want to be just like their dad, but _why_ would Dean want to be like our Dad?"

"Maybe he doesn't want to be like your dad at all," Hannah proposed gently. Sam looked at her, his scowl fading. "Maybe he just wants his family together again."

He regarded her. Hannah could only offer him a smile as she followed Dean out.

* * *

After checking the yellow pages for anyone with the last name Ellicott, they found a man by the name of James Ellicott, a clinical psychiatrist. Hannah had opened her mouth to offer to meet with the doctor, but stopped herself when she saw the pleading look on Sam's face. She realized he didn't want to be left alone with Dean. It was rather depressing.

They walked with Sam up to the building, but stayed outside when he entered. Dean leaned against the glass windows near the door, humming a Van Halen song. Hannah shifted on her feet as she wrapped Dean's flannel tighter around her, shivering when a cool breeze swept the area.

"What were you talking about last night?" Hannah tilted her head, confused. "You said something's wrong with the amulet I got you."

"Oh." Hannah glanced down at her amulet. "I don't know. Missouri said it 'radiates' something. My psychic friend lives in Chicago, so I was hoping we could visit her and she'd check out what's wrong with it."

Dean slowly nodded. "I don't mind making a quick detour. You just gotta convince Sam about that one."

"Your dad is fine, so he needs to stop worrying," Hannah assured him. "And I can handle Sam."

"Can you?" Dean regarded her with an amused look. "He made you cry, didn't he?"

"Don't remind me," Hannah hissed, covering her reddening cheeks with the collar of Dean's flannel shirt. "That was so embarrassing."

"Then stop being such a crybaby," Dean said. He laughed when Hannah slapped his arm, and only laughed harder as he blocked her barrage of slaps. "Alright, alright."

"I'll stop being a 'crybaby' when _you _stop being an asshole," she retorted, moving to stand in front of him.

"Asshole, huh? That's a little mean," he remarked, smirking. "I didn't know you could get mean, Princess. That's kind of hot."

Her own response shriveled up on her tongue at his words. He thought she was hot? No, he didn't. He _couldn't_. Dean was just messing with her. He just wanted a reaction. That was what he always wanted. Why else would he say such ridiculous things? But his words echoed throughout her mind. She never even thought she was on his radar. Hannah looked nothing like the girls he picked up. He never saw her like one of his girls.

_I'm overthinking this_, Hannah told herself.

She had to be.

Thankfully, Sam stepped out of the building before Hannah had to say anything.

"Dude! You were in there forever! What the hell were you talking about?" Dean complained, catching up with Sam.

"Just the hospital, you know," Sam replied distantly.

"And...?" Hannah prompted, after he didn't say anything else.

"_And_ the south wing. It's where they housed the really hard cases. The psychotics, the criminally insane," Sam explained.

"Sounds cozy," remarked Dean.

"Yeah, and one night in sixty-four, they rioted. Attacked staff. Attacked each other," Sam continued, and Hannah instantly thought of _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_.

"So, the patients took over the asylum," Hannah murmured. She looked up at Sam. "Any deaths?"

"Some patients, some staff," he answered as they reached the car. "I guess it was pretty gory. Some of the bodies were never even recovered, including our chief of staff, Ellicott."

Dean paused, puzzled. "Wait. What do you mean never recovered?"

"Cops scoured every inch of the place but I guess the patients must've..." Sam shrugged, letting his arms fall to his side. "Stuffed the bodies somewhere hidden."

"Ugh, gross." Hannah shared a disgusted look with Dean.

"Yeah. So, they transferred all the remaining patients and closed the hospital down," Sam informed them.

"So, to sum it up, we've got a bunch of violent deaths and a bunch of unrecovered bodies," Dean concluded, frowning.

"_And_ a bunch of angry spirits," Hannah sighed. She briefly wondered how normal girls spent their free nights. Definitely not spending it at some creepy asylum haunted by vengeful spirits.

"Good times. Let's check out the asylum tonight," Dean decided.

"Wait!" Hannah shouted. Dean and Sam froze. "We have some hours to kill. Let's do our laundry!"

The boys exchanged glances.

"You know, I'm starving," Dean suddenly said, as he unlocked the driver's door.

"Yeah, I could eat," Sam quickly agreed.

Hannah shot them a look, but nevertheless climbed in the backseat without another word. Even if it was the middle of the night and they were covered in ectoplasm, they were going to wash their clothes if it was the last thing they did.

* * *

The abandoned hospital, the ghosts lurking around in the hallways, the darkness surrounding them... it made Hannah feel like she was in a movie. And just her luck, she was the only girl there. Then again, the girl always survived.

"Getting any readings?" Sam asked Dean, who held the EMF.

"Yeah, big time," Dean said, just as the EMF meter pinged.

"This place is orbing like crazy," Sam murmured, astonished. She and Dean peered at Sam's video camera. There were green globes gleaming all throughout the corridor.

"Probably multiple spirits out and about," Dean commented, continuing their trek through the empty asylum.

"_Because_ _the freaks come out at night, the_—" Hannah started to sing.

"Stop," Dean interrupted, grimacing. He ignored the dirty look she shot him.

It sounded like Sam was holding back a laugh when he spoke. "And if these uncovered bodies are causing the haunting..."

"Then we gotta find them and burn them," Dean finished. He nudged Hannah, gesturing for her to shine her flashlight over to another part of the hallway. "Just be careful, though. The only thing that makes me more nervous than a pissed off spirit is the pissed off spirit of a psycho killer."

Hannah heard _whoosh_, like someone's feet gliding across the floor. She and the boys stopped moving and waited, expecting for something to jump out, but nothing did. Hannah glanced behind her once more before following the boys down the cavernous halls.

Dean and Sam separated into different rooms. Hannah followed Dean, trailing so close behind him that if he stopped she'd bump into him. She flinched when they heard Sam suddenly shouting their names. They followed Sam's voice, staggering to a halt when they spotted a spirit in the form of an old woman approaching Sam. Dean dropped his duffel bag and hastily rummaged through it for a shotgun. Glancing around, Hannah spotted a crowbar made of iron and picked it up.

"Sam, get down!" Hannah swung the crowbar at the woman. The spirit vanished, and Hannah lowered her weapon. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sam said, breathing heavily. "That was weird."

"Yeah, you're telling me," agreed Dean. His eyes went to the crowbar in Hannah's hand. "Nice thinking with the crowbar."

"Thanks," Hannah said, glad it was dark enough to hide her blazing cheeks.

"Guys, listen to me," Sam said. The urgency in his tone making them look at him. "That ghost—she didn't attack me."

"Looked pretty aggro from where I was standing," Dean remarked.

"She didn't hurt me. She didn't even try!" Sam exclaimed. "So, if she didn't wanna hurt me then what did she want?"

Now that Hannah thought about it, the old woman hadn't looked threatening at all. She had been reaching out to him, almost like pleading for his help. She was unable to ponder the incident any longer after hearing another noise. The three exchanged looks before heading to the sound.

Dean had his shotgun raised once more, while Hannah held up the crowbar like a baseball bat posed to strike. Slowly, they approached a patient's bed tipped over on its side, noticing someone blonde cowering behind it. Without any hesitation, Sam grabbed the edge of the bed and pulled it away, causing the person to spin around with a shriek. Hannah and Dean lowered their weapons when it was just a girl. Her eyes were large and her body trembled.

"It's alright, we're not going to hurt you," Hannah told her. The girl's breathing became less labored as Hannah continued her attempt to calm her nerves. "What's your name?"

"Katherine," the girl answered breathlessly. "Kat. Everybody calls me Kat."

"I'm Hannah," she said, smiling gently. The girl was less scared now. "The tall one's Sam and the short one's Dean."

She bit her lip, suppressing her smile when Dean hit her shoulder lightly. Not that Dean was short; he just _was_ when standing next to Sam. It had been funnier when she and Sam were sixteen, when Sam had a sudden growth spurt and was finally taller than his older brother. Sam couldn't pull off being older than he truly was, though.

"What are you doing here?" Sam questioned, surprised that a teenage girl would spend her free night in an abandoned asylum. _At least I'm not the only one hanging out a creepy haunted asylum_, Hannah thought.

"Um, my boyfriend Gavin—" Kat started, and Hannah let out an internal groan.

_Of course_.

It all made sense now. She just never believed that the idea that sneaking into a haunted place really went through teenagers' minds. Personally, Hannah thought that haunted places were the worse places for a romantic evening.

"Is he here?" Dean asked.

"He's... somewhere," Kat replied, sniffling. "He thought it would be fun, try and see some ghosts. I thought it was all just... you know, pretend. I've seen things. I heard Gavin scream and..."

"Okay, well, look, Kat. Sam's going to get you out of here. Then we're going to find your boyfriend," Dean told her as he helped her up from the ground.

Kat shook her head. "No, no," she protested. "I'm _not_ going to leave without Gavin. I'm coming with you."

"It's no joke around here. It's dangerous," Dean warned her.

"That's why I have to find him," Kat insisted.

Dean shot Hannah and Sam an exasperated glance, but Sam shrugged and Hannah wasn't going to drag the poor girl out of the building.

"Alright. I guess we're going to split up then," he relented, though grudgingly. "Kat, you're with me. Sam, Hannah, you two can look for Gavin together."

"Be careful," Hannah told Dean.

"Careful is my middle name," Dean replied with a smirk. She rolled her eyes and led Sam the opposite way.

* * *

For a while, Hannah and Sam searched for Kat's boyfriend in silence. They'd open different doors cautiously before calling out Gavin's name, but he was nowhere to be found.

"What took you so long in Ellicott's office?" Hannah asked, after a while.

Sam looked startled by her question. "Um... I told you, I was getting information about the hospital."

"Right." Hannah nodded. She swung the crowbar lightly at her side as they continued walking through the dark hallway. "But that wasn't the _only _thing you talked about, was it?"

Her apprehension grew the longer Sam's silence stretched.

"I just want to know how you got that information is all," she continued.

"He asked about me," Sam eventually answered. "And Dean. And you."

"You didn't tell him we were hunting, did you?"

"Of course not. I just told him we were on a road trip."

She felt like he was keeping something, but Hannah decided against further asking him about it. Sam touched her arm and gestured to a room they hadn't check out yet. Nodding, Hannah lifted the crowbar, ready to protect her and Sam of any spirits. They slowly entered the room, but all they found was a teenage boy lying on the ground.

Sam bent down to shake him awake. Gavin woke with a fright, but luckily didn't scream when he saw that Hannah and Sam weren't ghosts.

"Who are you?" he asked warily.

"My name's Sam. This is Hannah," Sam explained.

"We found your girlfriend," Hannah added, hoping to ease his worries.

"Kat?" Gavin pushed himself off the ground. "Is she alright?"

"She's with his brother," Hannah replied, gesturing to Sam. She frowned in concern. "Are you okay?"

"I was running," he said, though he sounded uncertain. "I think I fell."

"You were running from what?" Sam questioned, frowning.

"There was... there was this girl. Her face. It was all messed up."

"Did this girl—did she try to hurt you?"

"What? _No_, she..." Gavin hesitated, averting his eyes.

"She what?" Hannah prompted, curious.

He appeared paler as he thought about it, glancing between her and Sam. "I don't really want to say."

"Listen, Gavin, we promise we're here to help, but we can't do that if you don't say what she did," Hannah told him.

Gavin looked reluctant to say. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, unwilling to speak, but Hannah and Sam waited patiently. Finally, Gavin opened his mouth to tell them, and it was one of the strangest things Hannah ever heard.

"She... she _kissed _me."

Hannah shared a startled glance with Sam, but he didn't linger on the kissing part. "Um, but she didn't hurt you—physically?" questioned Sam.

"Dude! She _kissed _me," Gavin stressed, horrified. "I'm scarred for life!"

"Well, trust me, it could have been worse," Sam assured him, and he flashed Hannah a knowing smile. "Do you remember anything else?"

"She uh..." Gavin thought for a moment. "She actually tried to whisper something in my ear."

"What did she say?" Hannah inquired.

"I don't know. I ran like hell," Gavin replied.

"If the spirits aren't hurting people then what could they possibly want?" Sam wondered.

"Maybe they're trying to warn us about something," Hannah suggested after a moment.

"But _what_?" Sam asked, looking at her.

A scream interrupted their thoughts, and Sam gestured for Gavin to follow them as they sprinted out of the room and to the sound. There was another scream, and Hannah realized it had to be Kat. They heard the scream again when they reached the hallway, watching as Dean hit the door repeatedly with a metal pipe.

Dean was trying to pry open the door when Sam asked, "What's going on?"

"She's inside with one of them," Dean answered, a little breathless.

"_Help me!_" screamed Kat from inside.

Gavin pushed past Dean to the door, hitting it with his fist. "Kat!"

"_Get me out of here!"_ shrieked Kat.

"Kat, it's not going to hurt you," Sam told her. "Listen to me. You've got to face it."

"She's got to _what?!"_ demanded Dean, turning his head to stare Sam in disbelief.

"I've got to _what?!"_ Kat shouted.

"He's right, Kat!" Hannah exclaimed. "These spirits, they're not trying to hurt us, they're trying to tell us something."

"You have to face it," insisted Sam.

"_You _face it!" Kat yelled.

"It's the only way to get out of there!" Sam claimed.

"_No!_" Kat's voice wavered, like she was going to cry.

"Kat, just look it in the eye and tell it you're not scared," Hannah ordered. She ignored the incredulous look Dean shot her. "Say you're not scared!"

"_I'm not scared!"_ cried out Kat.

Silence fell over them, and Gavin called out Kat's name softly. Dean turned to glare at her and Sam, but waited. The hallway was still and tense as they waited, but after what seemed like ages, the door creaked open and Kat stepped out.

She looked at Sam, her face pale, and said, "137."

"What?" Dean asked, confused.

"137," she repeated. "It whispered in my ear 137."

"Room number," Hannah, Dean, and Sam said in unison. After a minute, the three went to the end of the hallway and crouched down near Dean's duffel bag.

"So if these spirits aren't trying to hurt anyone..." Sam started.

"Then what are they trying to do?" Dean questioned.

"Warn us about..." Hannah shrugged. "Something, I guess."

"I guess we'll find out," Dean decided. He hauled the duffel bag over his shoulder as he stood. She and Sam followed him back to the two teens. "Are you guys ready to leave this place?"

"That's an understatement," Kat sighed, crossing her arms.

"You get them out of here," Dean told Sam before looking down at Hannah. "We're going to find room 137."

"We aren't splitting up?" Hannah asked, surprised. She thought he'd want to split up to cover more ground.

Dean's eyes were fixed on her, an inscrutable look crossing his features. A moment passed before he answered, "No. Now let's go."

* * *

For once, Hannah wasn't bursting with conversation. Neither was Dean who seemed more focused on the job than teasing Hannah as he normally did. They had been walking down a particular corridor for what seemed like an eternity when Hannah decided to speak.

"So, _why_ didn't you want us to split up?" she asked him.

"Because you like to get hurt when you're alone," he replied, slowing down until he stopped in front of a door. "Room 137."

He pushed the door open, shining his flashlight inside in case another spirit appeared. Hannah followed him inside, taking note of the trashed room, but she was still mulling over what Dean had said.

"I don't _like _to get hurt," Hannah said defensively.

"Oh really?" Dean turned to face her. "The woman in white job—knocked your head on the steering wheel. Wendigo job—concussion. The shapeshifter gig—you almost dislocated your jaw. Oh, how about the Hook Man gig where you got _hooked in the arm_."

Hannah scowled at him. "Well _sorry _for trying to help out on a job."

Dean said nothing, and instead shone his flashlight at the filing cabinets. Hannah stepped over another plaque on the ground as she surveyed the room. She wondered if Sam had managed to get Kat and Gavin out of the asylum yet. They must have been terrified.

"Don't apologize," Dean told her quietly. "I _know_ you try to help, and you are helpful, but..."

"But what?" Hannah asked, more curious than upset.

She peered at his back, creasing his eyebrows when she saw him pry a loose panel off the wall. Hannah approached him, widening her eyes when he pulled out a satchel. He took something out of the satchel and turned to show her—a journal.

"This is why I get paid the big bucks." Dean grinned. He grabbed a chair and sat down by a desk, opening the journal to the first page. Hannah perched herself on the armrest and read it aloud.

"Patient's journal," she murmured. She draped her right arm over Dean's shoulders as she leaned forward to study the journal. Hannah frowned as Dean turned each page, reading how Dr. Ellicott performed lobotomies and _other_ kinds of procedures.

"Well," Dean started, leaning back to look up at Hannah. "All work and no play makes Dr. Ellicott a _very_ dull boy."

"Okay, Jack Nicholson," said Hannah, earning a snort from Dean. "But... what you were saying earlier—"

Hannah froze, and she could feel Dean stiffen under her arm. She strained to hear, but the noise had stopped. She was just about to ask if he heard the same thing, but Hannah finally noticed the arm around her waist. Hannah glanced over her shoulder at Dean's arm, then at Dean. He looked up at her. His green eyes so close to hers robbed Hannah of all her breath.

"We should see if Sam's okay," Hannah forced herself to say.

"Right," he agreed, getting off his chair. He handed her the patient's journal as he asked, "Think he got those kids out?"

"Hopefully." She picked up the crowbar and the clutched the handle.

They continued walking down the hallways, hoping they'd crash into Sam sometime soon. As they turned on a corner, Hannah let out a sharp gasp when she caught sight of Kat holding a shotgun. Kat aimed it at them and pulled the trigger. Dean hastily put his arm around Hannah's stomach and shoved her and himself back against the wall, narrowly missing the salt shell.

"Dammit!" Dean cursed, breathing heavily. "Shit! _Dammit!"_

"Don't shoot! It's us!" Hannah shouted, panting.

"I'm sorry!" Kat apologized, sheepish.

"Son of a bitch," Dean hissed. He looked at Hannah, his scowl fading. "You okay?"

She nodded, and they rounded the corner. Hannah widened her eyes at the salt shell ledged in the wall.

"What are you still _doing_ here?!" Dean demanded. "Where's Sam?"

"He went to the basement," Gavin answered, glancing at them with a confused look. "You guys called him."

"We didn't call him," Hannah replied, bewildered.

"His phone rang. He said it was you guys," Kat told them, just as perplexed.

"Basement huh?" Dean turned to Hannah, wondering if she had any clue what was going on. She shrugged, and Dean frowned before looking back at Kat and Gavin. "Alright. Watch yourselves... and watch out for _us_."

Kat shot them an apologetic look. Dean exchanged a quick nod with Hannah before leading the way to the basement. Hannah reached out to grab Dean's arm, fear spreading throughout her as they descended to the basement, but stopped herself. She was a tough hunter, not a scared girl.

"Sammy!" Dean called, shining his flashlight around the dark, rather dank area.

"Sam!" Hannah called, lightly waving the crowbar in case she felt him.

"Sam, you down here?" Dean yelled, looking around.

Hannah maneuvered around him, but collided into something solid. She let out a startled scream, the crowbar fumbling out of her hands. Dean's flashlight shone on her, and Hannah could only sigh in relief when she saw that it was only Sam, not a vengeful spirit.

"Holy shit," Hannah muttered, placing her hand over her heart, noting how fast it was beating. "You _really _scared me..."

"Man, answer me when I'm calling you!" Dean snapped. His anger disappeared as he asked, "You alright?"

"Yeah. I'm fine," Sam replied, his voice rather flat.

"You know it wasn't us who called your cell, right?" Dean told him as Hannah bent down to retrieve the crowbar.

"Yeah, I know," Sam said, then glanced around. "I think something lured me down here."

"Dr. Ellicott," Hannah declared confidently. "That's what the spirits have been trying to tell us." She frowned and asked, "You haven't seen him, have you?"

"No. How do you know it was him?" Sam questioned. There was something challenging underlying his words, and it worried her.

"We found his logbook," Hannah explained, "he was experimenting on his patients, but in the Jigsaw kind of way."

"Makes lobotomies look like a couple of aspirin," commented Dean.

"But it was the patients who rioted," Sam reminded them.

"They were rioting against Dr. Ellicott," Hannah countered.

"Dr. Feelgood was working on some sort of, like, extreme rage therapy. He thought that if he could get his patients to vent their anger then they would be cured of it," Dean told him. "Instead it only made them worse and angrier. So, I'm thinking, what if his spirit is doing the same thing? To the cop? To the kids in the seventies, making them so angry they become homicidal."

She noticed the doubt on his face and tilted her head. "Come on, Sam. Who else could scare these ghosts so much that they're warning us about them?"

"Come on," Dean said, lighting hitting Sam on the chest as he walked past him. "We've got to find his bones and torch them."

"How?" Sam asked, still dubious. "The police never found his body."

"The log book said he had some sort of hidden procedure room down here where he'd work on his patients," Hannah answered, still watching him. Sam hadn't changed the pitch in his voice since they found him.

"If I was a patient I'd drag his ass down here, do a little work on it myself," Dean murmured, stopping in front of a door.

"I don't know, it sounds kind of..." Sam trailed off.

"Crazy?" Dean supplied, glancing at him with a lopsided grin.

"Yeah," he admitted.

"I mean, it's fitting considering where we are," Hannah remarked as Dean opened the door and entered a small, destroyed room.

"I told you guys, I looked everywhere," Sam said, irritated. "I didn't find a hidden room."

"Well, that's why they call it hidden." Dean paused, listening for something. "You guys hear that?"

"Yeah," Hannah murmured, looking around. "I'll check outside, just in case."

Hannah stepped out the room, checking to see if Ellicott's spirit was lurking around. She moved cautiously through the hall, readying herself for Ellicott when a shotgun went off. Hannah hurried back inside the room, gasping at the sight of Dean on the ground. Sam stood holding a shotgun, smoke drifting upwards from the barrel.

"Sam! What are you _doing?"_ Hannah demanded. He looked at her from over his shoulder, and Hannah faltered from the scowl on his face. It was so out of place on him it was unnerving.

"Ellicott did something to him," Dean told her, wheezing.

"For once in your life..." Sam turned back to look at Dean, keeping his gun aimed at him. "Just _shut up!"_

She glanced between Sam and Dean, before stepping towards the older brother. When Sam didn't stop her, Hannah continued towards Dean. She sat on her knees near Dean, fear clutching her heart like a vice at the sound of his labored breathing. Gingerly, she touched his chest where Sam shot him, her frown deepening from the painful groan Dean released. He tried to get up, but Hannah touched his shoulders and kept him on his back.

"We got to torch Ellicott's bones," wheezed Dean, struggling to get up. "Then you'll be normal..."

"I am normal. I'm just telling the truth for the first time," Sam snapped, cocking his shotgun once again. "I mean, why are we even here? 'Cause you're following Dad's orders like a good little soldier? Because you always do what he says without question? Are you _that_ desperate for his approval?"

"This isn't you talking, Sam," Hannah said, attempting keeping Dean still. She could tell he had suffered some bruising on his chest, and his breathing hadn't returned to normal yet.

"Oh, but it is," retorted Sam. Hannah stiffened when the barrel of the shotgun touched the side of her head. "You're not a hunter. You never will be. You're too emotional. Too _weak_."

She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply. His words were like a blow to the gut for her, but she couldn't lose her composure. Not now.

"You know what, I am _sick_ of doing what you tell me to do," Sam said harshly. "We're no closer to finding Dad today than we were six months ago."

"Well then, let me make this easier for you." Hannah widened her eyes when Dean pulled out a pistol from his jacket. He held it out for Sam

_I have to do something_, Hannah thought frantically. She lifted herself off her knees, grabbed the barrel of Sam's shotgun, and thrust it backwards, knocking him square in the jaw. Sam stumbled back, letting go of the shotgun to clutch his jaw. Dean lunged forward, his fist striking Sam in the cheek and knocking him to the ground unconscious.

"Man, I'm not going to give you a loaded pistol," Dean panted, doubling over from the pain. Once he stood to his full height, he noticed Hannah watching him. "What?"

"What the hell was _that?" _Hannah exploded. "How could you give him a pistol? Are you _trying _to get yourself killed?!"

"Did you not hear me? I said it _wasn't_ loaded," Dean explained, scowling.

"_It doesn't matter!" _she shrieked. "You could have—_he_ could have..." She let out a frustrated groan as she pushed back some locks of brown hair away from her face.

Dean's eyes softened, his scowl waning as he gazed at her. "I get it," he sighed, turning away. "Don't worry over me, Princess."

_Someone has to_, she almost said, but kept silent. That would open a Pandora's box of questions that Hannah wasn't prepared to answer. She was more than thankful when Dean led the search for Ellicott's corpse.

They looked around until Dean spotted a cabinet and went over to open it. Hannah followed, crouching down beside him, and immediately recoiled from the foul smell. She backed away and turned to retrieve the duffel bag. Unzipping it, she grabbed a container of salt and handed it to Dean.

"Soak it up," Dean muttered, then gestured for the gasoline. She reached in the duffel bag for the gasoline and gave it to him.

Hannah gasped sharply when a gurney crashed into her, knocking her to the ground. Before she could get up, she met the decaying face of Dr. Ellicott. His hands grabbed both sides of her face and sunk his fingers deep into her skull.

"Don't be afraid," he murmured, sending waves of electricity over her skin. His smile was depraved when she started to scream. "I'm going to help you. I'm going to make you all better."

There was a roaring in her ears from this sadistic doctor's "treatment," with black spots clouding her vision and her heart hammering inside her chest, threatening to burst from all the electricity surging throughout her body.

Then suddenly the doctor released her face, his hands dissolving to black dust. Dean grasped her arm and hauled her from underneath Ellicott's spirit. Her chest heaved and she saw the black spots vanish the more Ellicott's corpse burned. Ellicott collapsed, his form caving in and becoming black dust. Dean held her the entire time, breathing just as hard as Hannah.

She turned her head to thank him, but a groan came from behind them. She looked over Dean's shoulder to see Sam slowly sitting up.

"You're not going to try and kill us, are you?" Dean asked, letting Hannah go.

"No," Sam said slowly, rubbing his jaw.

"Good," Dean replied, nudging Hannah. "Because that would be awkward."

* * *

"I'm sorry," Hannah said.

"I know, Hannah," Sam replied tiredly.

"But I _really _am," Hannah insisted.

Sam sighed and stopped walking. "Hannah, I _know_ you never meant to hurt me. You did what you had to do."

Their conversation ended once they reached Kat and Gavin. It took them a few minutes to find an exit, but they managed to leave the asylum and guide them out. Kat and Gavin thanked them before retreating to their own car.

"Guys?" Sam called out. "I'm sorry. I said some awful things back there."

"You remember all that?" Dean asked, standing by the opened trunk.

"Yeah," Sam admitted, guilt plain on his face. "It's like I couldn't control it. But I didn't mean it. Any of it."

"You didn't, huh?" There was something different in Dean's tone.

"No, of course not," Sam said. He frowned, glancing at her and Dean. "... Do we need to talk about this?"

"No," Dean answered, sliding in the driver's seat. "I'm not really in the sharing and caring kinda mood. I just want to get some sleep."

Hannah's hand was on the door handle when Dean said that, and she let go of it to go to the driver's window. "Did you forget that we have to do laundry?" she asked him quietly.

"Princess, we've been up all night. Can't we do our laundry after we sleep?" Dean asked.

She stared at him for a long time. Sighing, Hannah relented and replied, "You're lucky you're injured and you saved my life or else this would have been a different story."

Dean smirked, and turned the key in the ignition. Hannah climbed into the car and sprawled out in the backseat. The steady motion of the car lulled her to sleep.

"Dean?" she murmured. Her eyelashes were growing so heavy.

"Yeah?"

"Your shirt doesn't really smell that bad," Hannah admitted, staring at him from under her lashes. He didn't say anything, but the last thing she saw before sleep took her was his smile in the rear view mirror.


	11. Scarecrow

**A/N: **Thank you everyone for favoriting and following this story! It means a ton! And I'm extremely glad that you guys like that the romance is progressing slowly; it's mostly one-sided for now, but you'll see some changes towards the end of season one. Special thanks to _Spirit Kiss_, _grapejuice101_, _TifaBea_, _stoxy99_, _Loveless Wings, Kat, Rosalind, Evangeline Carter, keilanttrafae_, and a guest for reviewing!

Please enjoy and review this chapter!

**11.**

**Scarecrow**

When the sleep finally drained from Hannah's system, she woke to find the boys moving around the motel room in a frenzy. She sat up, yawning as she watched Dean brush his teeth in the bathroom and Sam pack his things away.

"What's going on?" croaked Hannah, rubbing her groggy eyes.

"Dad called," answered Sam gruffly.

"_What?"_ Hannah stopped rubbing her eyes, the news shocking her into alertness. "What did he say? Is he okay?"

Dean stepped out of the bathroom and explained everything to her. Hannah deflated once the information sunk in. John hadn't told his sons where he was; only ordering them to take on another job. She glanced over at Sam, chewing her lower lip thoughtfully. He seemed to be keeping a lid on his anger, but she knew he was restraining himself from ranting about his father.

"You should get dressed," Sam told her, his voice tight.

Hannah remembered her hamsa amulet and turned to Dean, asking, "Are we still going to Chicago?"

Sam frowned in confusion. "Chicago?" he repeated.

"Missouri suggested I go see my psychic friend in Chicago about this—" Hannah leaned over to pluck her amulet from the nightstand. "I think something's wrong with it."

"What could be wrong with it?" Sam wondered.

"I don't know," Hannah said, shrugging. "That's why I wanted to see Magda."

"That'll have to wait, Princess," Dean eventually answered. "We need to hunt this thing Dad told us about before another couple dies."

"I know," Hannah replied evenly, clasping the amulet around her neck. "But Indiana's only, what, two hours away? Why don't you two get a head start while I go see Magda."

Hannah didn't miss the look Dean and Sam exchanged.

"Um, Princess, I don't think that's such a good idea," Dean said, walking over to her.

"Why not?" Hannah inquired, standing up to stretch. She paused mid-stretch when she caught Dean staring, and hastily dropped her arms to her sides. Her face warmed. Had he been _ogling _her?

Thankfully, Dean had the decency to look embarrassed. "Well, how the hell are you going to get to Indiana if we're already there? We can't just come pick you up in the middle of a job."

Hannah rolled her eyes at that. "Have a little faith in me, won't you? I'll get there safe and sound." She bumped his chest with the side of her hand. "Or are you going to miss me so much you won't be able to focus on the hunt?"

Dean looked away from her, scoffing. "Like I'd miss you."

"You know you would," teased Hannah, tilting her head. She laughed when Dean rolled his eyes. "Don't worry. I'll meet up with you guys tomorrow."

She had fallen asleep in yesterday's clothes, so Hannah didn't bother to change. Not that she had anything to change into. They still hadn't done their laundry. Nonetheless, Hannah was excited. She hadn't seen Magda since they graduated from Johns Hopkins, and she missed her dearly. Not that she didn't like hanging out with Sam and Dean—she loved them, but at times she yearned for some female company.

They checked out of the motel, and Hannah told Sam Magda's address. The drive took longer than usual with traffic. Sam pulled up in front of a row house and Hannah collected her things before stepping out of the Impala.

"I'm going to miss you guys!" Hannah exclaimed, reaching over through the driver's window to give Sam a hug.

"You'll only be gone for a day, Hannah," Sam reminded her, patting her back.

"Can't you at least pretend to miss me?" Hannah pouted, pulling away.

"I'm crying a river here, Princess," drawled Dean from the passenger seat.

"I take that back. I _won't _miss you guys," Hannah retorted, ignoring their chuckles. She waved goodbye as they drove off, and turned back to the row house.

She knocked on the door and waited, rolling back and forth on the heels of her feet. Minutes passed before the door swung open. Magda looked the same since the time they've been apart; same sultry black eyes, full lips, and red bandana worn around her long black hair as a headband.

Magda smirked and leaned against the doorway.

"I knew you'd come," the psychic drawled.

"Of course you did." Hannah rolled her eyes, but the two embraced, squealing with excitement. "It's been so long!"

"Too long," Magda agreed, pulling away and stepping aside for Hannah. "Where are the Hardy Boys?"

"They're getting a head start on a hunt without me," Hannah answered, setting her things on the ground in the living room. She blanched as she looked around, taking in the brightly painted, different colored walls, curtains of peculiar prints, and mismatched furniture.

Unique was the politest word she could think of.

Hannah asked if she could wash her clothes, and Magda agreed without hesitation. Magda offered to make lunch and as she was in the kitchen, Hannah's mind drifted to the first time she and Magda met.

It had been two weeks before the start of term. Hannah had been eighteen, raised with the harsh realities that the supernatural was real, and admittedly lonely. Dean and Sam came around less and less because of their persistent hunt for the thing that killed their mom—a demon apparently. There was Jo, but she never sought out Hannah's company.

Magda had been decorating her side of the room when Hannah first entered their dorm. She'd been ready to introduce herself when Magda had turned to her and smiled, opening her mouth to say, "I know you."

That confused Hannah at first, but she soon learned that Magda was a psychic and had known that the two would meet. By the time school started, they were already friends. By the end of term, Hannah considered Magda her closest female friend.

Besides bonding over the supernatural, Magda was much more experienced than Hannah was socially and sexually. She helped Hannah become more comfortable around attractive boys, especially with a _certain _person whom Hannah would rather not name. She pushed back thoughts of _him_ and remembered to bring up the reason why she was there.

"Do you remember meeting a psychic named Missouri Moseley?" Hannah asked her, leaning against the dryer.

"How could I not?" Magda snorted from the kitchen. "The woman threw a shoe at me."

She laughed, remembering Missouri's threats to Dean. It was a little refreshing to see an adult not fall for Dean's charm. Hannah herself was guilty of allowing herself to be swayed by him.

"Why do you ask?" Magda asked, disrupting the silence with the clattering of plates. Hannah hesitated, but she made herself walk to the kitchen and explain the mystery shrouding her hamsa amulet.

"Huh," she said afterwards. "You know, I always had this feeling that something was wrong with it, but I never really thought about checking it out."

"I mean, if it's not too much trouble," Hannah added, biting her lip.

"It's not," assured Magda, opening the fridge and pouring two cups of soda.

Hannah sat at the kitchen table and accepted the sandwich presented to her. Magda sat down opposite of her, sipping her own cup of cola. They exchanged stories, with Hannah learning that Magda was a registered nurse and worked as a palm reader on the side. As Hannah revealed her hunts involving the Winchesters, she noticed a sly smile grow on Magda's face.

"What?" Hannah asked her, frowning.

"The way you talk about Dean..." Magda trailed off. "It sounds like you _like_ him."

"I don't," Hannah huffed, though she couldn't ignore the heat rushing to her face.

Magda fixed her with a look of disbelief.

"I _don't_," she insisted, because Hannah certainly did not like Dean. He was her friend, and that was _all _they were. "I mean, I _did _have a small crush on him back when I was fourteen…"

Of course, her crush on Dean had been expected. She was starting high school and he was the older boy with the leather jacket, cool car, rakish smile, eyes that she could gaze into forever… but those feelings were childish and eventually died like embers in a fire. Yet embers could still spark a flame.

Hannah waved a dismissive hand. "But that was a long time ago. I'd rather us stay friends than ruin our relationship."

"Friendship is good," Magda agreed, taking a sip of her cola. She dropped the subject easily, but the knowing look in her eyes was still there. "Let me get everything ready then we can see what's going on with your amulet."

Ten minutes later, they were in the dimly-lit living room, the only source of light being the candles surrounding them. They sat facing each other on the sofa, with Magda holding her hand and using her free one to touch Hannah's hamsa amulet. Hannah gripped her hand, swallowing down her uneasiness.

"I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before us," Magda murmured. "I invoke, conjure, and—"

She stopped abruptly, letting out a sharp gasp. Startled, Hannah opened her eyes and saw that Magda's eyes were screwed shut, her eyebrows drawn. Her olive skin paled and beaded with sweat. Her veins became more pronounced to a frightening degree. Her lips moved, but no words were heard. Hannah jumped when Magda suddenly started screaming. It was agonizing and Hannah couldn't sit by. She grasped Magda's wrist and ripped her hand away from her amulet. She widened her eyes when Magda's whole body convulsed, whimpering in pain.

"Magda," Hannah called, afraid she hurt her friend.

"I'm fine," the psychic rasped out, when the spasms ceased. "I couldn't see anything, you know, significant."

"Nothing?" Hannah frowned, disappointed.

"Nothing." Magda sat up, rubbing her temples gingerly. "If I touched it any longer, I would have burned my eyes out. All I saw was white, but the more I touched it, the more I felt its divine power..."

_Divine?_ Hannah thought, worried. How could some ordinary hippie amulet give off so much energy? Then again, it wasn't truly ordinary to begin with. Did it have something to do with Hannah _herself?_ Her mind whirled as she calculated different theories about her amulet.

"Let me get you some water. You're still a little pale," Hannah mumbled, standing up and heading to the kitchen. "Well, thanks for trying anyways."

"I really didn't mind," Magda said, accepting the water. "You might want to check on those clothes you're washing."

"Right." Hannah was hesitant to leave Magda alone, but she seemed fine relaxing on the sofa. Her mind drifted to the boys. She hoped they weren't arguing over their father again since it was one of the most common things they bickered about.

Hannah glanced down, lifting her hamsa amulet between her thumb and index finger. She'd get her answers some way or another.

* * *

Hannah woke early in the morning, ready for her newest hunt yet reluctant to leave. She and Magda had spent the rest of the evening and night reminiscing. Annoyingly enough, the conversation kept steering its way back to Dean. She would remind the psychic each time that she only saw Dean as a _friend_.

After breakfast, Magda offered to drive Hannah to Indiana. Hannah could not thank her enough, and for most of the drive, they listened to reggaetón after Magda refused all of Hannah's pop suggestions. She remembered having a similar argument with Dean, except he had conceded when she offered listening to Fleetwood Mac.

"Dean-o!" Hannah said cheerfully, when he finally picked up his phone.

"_I hate when you call me that_," answered Dean.

"And I hate when you call me princess," Hannah responded.

"_Are you on your way yet?"_ he asked impatiently.

"Yeah. Where should I meet you guys?"

"_I was heading over to the interstate when the EMF meter started making noise. I'm at an orchard now. You'll see my Baby parked outside of it_."

"I'll be there soon. Be careful."

"_I'm always careful_."

"Right."

Dean snorted on the other line before hanging up. Hannah shoved her Motorola Razr back in her purse. When she looked back up, Magda kept glancing at her with a smirk. Hannah narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.

They reached the orchard thirty minutes later, with Hannah spotting Dean leaning against the hood of the Impala. Hannah leaned over to give Magda a sideways hug before climbing out and retrieving her things from the backseat. Dean moved to unlock the trunk of his car and waited as Hannah put her things away. Hannah waved goodbye to Magda who blew her a kiss before driving back home to Chicago.

She looked around, creasing her eyebrows, and asked, "Where's Sam?"

"What? No 'hello Dean'?" Dean questioned, slamming the trunk shut. "And I see you're wearing another tight sweater."

"It's cold," Hannah said defensively, glancing down at her grey-blue, ribbed-knit turtleneck. It _was_ sort of snug, but Hannah would never admit that. "And you haven't answered my question. Where's Sam?"

They stared at each other, Hannah noting the hesitant look on Dean's face. He sighed and gestured for Hannah to follow him into the orchard. Hannah suddenly felt anxious, wondering if something happened to Sam.

"We were driving and Sam decided he didn't want to go to Indiana," Dean started, walking at the same pace as Hannah. "He wanted to go back to California and find Dad, so I let him."

"He _what?__"_ Hannah stopped walking, and looked at Dean in shock.

"Yeah, can you believe him?" Dean scoffed, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket. "He's being a selfish bastard. Dad gave us an order and he decides he's going to disobey it. I don't get what his problem is."

"His _problem_ is that we've been looking for John for months and when we finally get a lead _you_ choose not to follow it," Hannah snapped.

"Fuck, not you too," Dean groaned.

"And how could you let him go?!" Hannah demanded, turning to face him. "How could you let your little brother go off in the middle of the night _alone?!"_

"Sam's a big boy. He can handle himself," Dean responded through grit teeth. "And it was his choice to leave. If he wants to be a—"

"A selfish bastard. Right," Hannah interrupted, crossing her arms. "I want to help these people too, but... don't you want to find your Dad?"

He looked taken aback by her question—or was it from the softness in her voice that startled him? Hannah wasn't too sure, but the scowl on Dean's face lessened.

"Of course I want to find him," Dean answered, his anger subdued. "But Dad says it's dangerous and he knows something we don't, so if he says stay away, we stay away."

"When have _you_ ever cared about danger?" Hannah asked him. "It's been twenty-two years, Dean. You and Sam deserve to know whatever it is John is keeping from you guys."

Dean considered her for a long moment. Eventually, he motioned for them to continue walking through foggy orchard. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but Hannah hoped her words got to him because she thought of it as completely unfair that both Sam and Dean were still in the dark about things they deserved to know.

Hannah frowned when they approached an eldritch scarecrow. She noticed its right hand grasping a sickle, but made no move to get any closer. Part of her feared that the scarecrow would come to life right then and there. She watched as Dean brought a ladder over to the scarecrow and climbed it.

"I checked it out before you got here, but I wanted to see what you thought of it," Dean explained, lifting the sleeve of the arm holding the sickle.

Butterflies fluttered in her belly when Dean gestured for her to climb up to get a better look after climbing down, but she climbed the ladder, taking the missing person's reports from his hands. Hannah studied the tattoo on the scarecrow's arm then looked back at the missing person's report.

The man pictured had the exact same tattoo on his right arm.

"I think this scarecrow has something to do with the missing couples," Hannah murmured, stepping down from the ladder. "We should stake-out the place tonight, see if it does something weird."

"Because the freaks come out at night?" Dean asked flatly.

"When else would the freaks come out?" Hannah asked, grinning. "Have you talked to any locals?"

"I did, but they claim they don't get many strangers around here," Dean replied as they walked back to the Impala. "Talked to an older couple, but they only gave the most recent couple gas and told them how to get back to the interstate."

"Weird," Hannah muttered, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. "When will you talk to Sam?"

"I'm not talking to Sam," Dean replied firmly. He unlocked the car and they both slid in. "He hasn't tried to call me either. Let him go to California."

"Oh, Dean," Hannah sighed, buckling her seatbelt. "When will you get over your manly pride and call your brother?"

"It's not manly pride," Dean grumbled, turning the key in the ignition.

"It's not?" Hannah questioned, raising her eyebrows. "Because it seems like you two are acting like drama queens."

Dean glanced at her, annoyance plain on his face. "Everyone thinks you're so sweet, but you're a bitch when you want to be, you know that?"

"Someone has to keep you from getting too big in the head," Hannah retorted.

He harrumphed and said nothing else as he drove back to the small Indiana town. They stopped at a gas station where a blonde girl about seventeen or eighteen was waiting by the gas pumps.

"You're back," the girl said, smiling.

"Never left," Dean said as he climbed out. Hannah followed suit, greeting the girl with a polite smile. "I found her on the side of the road."

Hannah slapped Dean's arm. "He's kidding," she told the girl, who seemed amused. "I'm here to help look for our friends."

"I was just about ask if you were still looking," the girl—Emily from what Hannah read on her nametag, said. They both nodded before Dean asked Emily to fill their gas tank. Emily obliged, and as she filled their tank, Dean decided to strike up a conversation with the girl.

"So, you grew up here?" he asked Emily.

"I came here when I was thirteen. I lost my parents—car accident," Emily explained, a hint of sadness in her voice. "My aunt and uncle took me in."

"They're nice people?" Dean asked.

"_Everybody's_ nice here," Emily said.

"So, what, it's like the perfect little town?" he questioned, his tone threatening to become sarcastic.

Emily didn't seem to notice. "Well, you know, it's the boonies, but I love it," she answered, fondness coloring her voice. "I mean, the towns around us, people are losing their homes, their farms. But here, it's almost like we're blessed."

"Hey, you been out to the orchard?" Hannah suddenly asked her. Emily frowned in response. "The scarecrow?"

"Yeah, it creeps me out," Emily admitted, and Hannah laughed.

"Whose is it?" Dean inquired.

"I don't know. It's just always been there," she said, shrugging.

Hannah scowled at Dean when he elbowed her side, but her scowl left her face once she followed his stare. There was a red van parked by the garage. She was more concerned once Emily revealed that it was a couple who owned the van. They thanked Emily and headed to a diner, but Hannah opted to stay in the car.

"You sure you don't want anything?" Dean asked her.

"A strawberry milkshake would be great," Hannah said, smiling.

He left her alone, and Hannah quickly dug her phone out of her purse before calling Sam.

* * *

When Sam picked up his phone and read the caller ID, he knew he was about to receive the berating of the year.

"I have to take this," Sam said apologetically.

"No, go ahead. It's fine." Meg waved a dismissive hand at him.

Sam smiled, hoping it hid the nervousness he felt about answering his ringing phone. Getting up, he wandered away until Meg was out of earshot before answering his phone.

"_Sam! Are you okay? Where are you?_"

"I'm okay, Hannah. I'm at a bus station."

"_I can't believe Dean let you leave_."

He scowled. "Dean didn't _let_ me leave, Hannah. I chose to leave."

"_You chose to leave in the middle of the night! How could any of you decide it was best to walk on an empty road. Alone. At __NIGHT__?!_"

Sam winced, holding the phone away from his ear.

"_And don't even say I'm taking his side because I'm not_," she continued, "_I told him that the both of you deserve to know whatever it is John is keeping from you_."

"Thank—"

"_I'm not finished_." _Oh_, thought Sam. "_But that doesn't excuse you for leaving innocent people at the hands of whatever the hell is killing them! We're hunters, Sam! We save people and kill baddies, remember?_"

"I remember," Sam replied grudgingly. "Are you done?"

"_I was done, but I can go on_," threatened Hannah. She sighed on the other line. "_Look, I'm just worried that you could get hurt._"

His annoyance waned at the sincerity in her voice. Hannah always had the best intentions for him and Dean, so he couldn't hold his anger towards her. Before Sam could speak, he heard Hannah groan.

"_Oh my God, your brother is an idiot_."

"What'd he do now?" Sam asked, amused.

"_I left him alone for five minutes and he's already getting escorted out of town by the sheriff. How he coped on his own... I don't know_."

"Well, good luck." Sam laughed, and Hannah wished him the same before hanging up.

He chewed the inside of his cheek, staring at his phone in contemplation of whether to call Dean. Sam glanced over at Meg. The girl was an enigma, but she seemed like the perfect distraction from him thinking about Dean and his complete and utter blind faith in their dad.

Sam snapped his phone shut and headed back to Meg.

* * *

Hannah couldn't deny that this was an awful day.

She understood that Sam didn't appreciate being told what to do, and she tried her best not to act domineering towards him, but it still felt like something was missing with him gone. Hannah always thought of them as a trio. It was weird when one of them was missing. And it didn't help that Dean managed to get them kicked out of town for being so tactless. Sometimes, Hannah wondered what went through that skull of his. Hannah hadn't stayed mad at him for too long, though. He had admitted that Sam would have been better at talking to the couple.

The thing that upset Hannah the most was that she hadn't even gotten her milkshake.

But Hannah wasn't going to focus on the awfulness of the day. She had figured out what they were hunting: a pagan god, more specifically a pagan god that represented fertility. It explained the annual killings of one man and one woman, and Dean had mentioned offhandedly that the owner of the cafe had been feeding the couple enthusiastically.

"So, what exactly did you tell them?" Hannah asked him.

She and Dean were sitting in the Impala parked outside of the orchard. The sun was asleep below the sky, allowing complete darkness to take over. Fog rolled through the gardens of the orchard, and Hannah half expected a busty blonde from a slasher flick to come running out and away from a masked killer.

"I _said_ that they were in danger," Dean answered, refusing to look at her.

"Now would you say that?" Hannah questioned, bringing her knees up to her chest.

"Because they are!" Dean exclaimed, throwing his hands up.

"Dean, you might as well as said 'I'm a lunatic'. No one is going to believe a drifter who ominously tells them that 'they're in danger'," Hannah said.

"You know, you've been feisty today," Dean remarked, staring at her. He smiled, and Hannah's insides did flips. "It's kind of hot."

His stare lingered, and before Hannah could even fumble for a response, a scream rippled through the air. They both scrambled out of the car and Dean opened the trunk. He gave her a shotgun before grabbing one for himself.

"I trust you won't shoot me in the ass?" Dean joked, and Hannah made a face at him. He slammed the trunk shut then motioned for her to go.

They hadn't jogged too far when they nearly crashed into the couple from earlier. Dean ordered them back to their car, and they didn't need much encouragement. Hannah raised the shotgun, aiming the barrel at the scarecrow's chest before shooting. It stumbled, but it kept coming towards them.

"Head shot," Hannah suggested to Dean who nodded.

He cocked his shotgun and shot at the scarecrow's head, but nothing happened. He continued shooting at it until Hannah took a step back, realizing that bullets wouldn't work against it. She grasped his wrist and tugged him back. They ran back to their own car at full speed, the panting of the scarecrow sounding so close behind them.

Hannah spotted the couple by the Impala, hugging each other. She and Dean scanned the area, anticipating the scarecrow to step out of the fog and attack them, but it didn't.

"What—what the hell was that?" demanded the guy.

"Don't ask," Dean replied, once he regained his breath.

Dean lowered his shotgun and turned to the couple. He offered to fix their car and they seemed reluctant, but agreed to it after Hannah managed to convince them with the promise of protection. She and the couple huddled by the Impala while Dean worked on their car. Hannah explained the most she could about the scarecrow, not wanting to frighten the couple even more. Once Dean fixed their car, the couple thanked them profusely and drove off.

"So, what now?" Hannah asked, noticing that Dean had taken off his jacket.

"We could find a motel," Dean suggested, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. Hannah said nothing, unable to focus on anything but how her body was buzzing alight. "No? You're not tired?"

"I'm not tired. I'm mean, I can't really be with the state I'm in," Hannah said, then smiled sheepishly. "It's the adrenaline."

"Ah." Dean grinned, leaning against the hood of the car. "The thrill of the hunt. Driving usually calms me down."

Hannah tilted her head, unable to suppress her smile. "You're actually offering to let me drive your car?"

He seemed to take her words as a challenge, and tossed her the keys to the Impala. Hannah caught them easily and stared at it for a moment before skipping over to the driver's door. She grinned once she caught the nervous expression on his face.

"I trust you won't have a panic attack?" Hannah quipped as she buckled her seatbelt.

Dean shot her a dirty look, but his stiff posture hadn't relaxed. Hannah shrugged and instead focused on how she was finally getting a turn to drive. It had been far too long since she driven a car.

Neither of them spoke, preferring to listen to the KISS cassette Dean put in. Hannah's mind drifted back to their conversation earlier, before the scarecrow had attacked the couple. He had called her hot. Part of her thought he had been messing with her, but she remembered the other time he called her hot. Did he even mean it? But there was his smile. It had been so genuine and _real_, not like those cocky or jokester ones he flashed her and Sam every day.

Hannah dismissed those thoughts the minute she remembered the knowing look in Magda's eyes.

* * *

Most of the night was spent getting Hannah's adrenaline to descend, so deciding against his better judgement, Dean let Hannah drive the Impala. It had been... terrifying to say the least, but he was glad it wore her out to the point that she was asleep in the backseat now. He had placed his jacket over her as a crude substitute for covers. Dean hoped she wouldn't mention it to him once she woke up. Hannah had a habit of making everything annoyingly sentimental. He could give her a leaf and she'd go on about how thoughtful his gift was.

"_The scarecrow climbed off its cross?_" Sam asked, incredulous.

Dean had decided to call Sam and hear his opinion on Hannah's theory. He also wanted to know how Sam was doing. Who could blame him? This was his brother. Dean practically raised the little bastard. He hoped that Sam wasn't serious about this California thing and would ask for Dean to pick him up _wherever _he was.

"Yeah, I'm telling you. Burkitsville, Indiana—fun town," Dean quipped. He kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding his phone to his ear.

"_It didn't kill the couple, did it?_"

"No. I can cope without you, you know."

Sam snorted on the other line.

"_According to Hannah, you can't_."

"God, what did that girl tell you?"

"_Says you got escorted out of town by the sheriff. What'd you do, Dean?"_

Dean shot Hannah a scowl from where she slept. _Fucking blabber mouth_, he thought as his eyes returned to the road.

"Nothing, Sammy," he said, clearing his throat. "So, what do you think?"

"_It's a possibility. I mean, a god possesses the scarecrow and the scarecrow takes its sacrifice. And for another year, the crops won't wilt, and disease won't spread_," Sam speculated. He was quiet for a moment before asking, "_Do you know which god you're dealing with?_"

"No, not yet."

"_Well, you figure out what it is, you can figure out a way to kill it._"

"I know. We're on our way to a local community college. I've got an appointment with a professor. You know, Hannah wanted to check out the library, but I said it isn't the same without our trusty geek sidekick to help with the research."

He laughed. "_You know, if you're hinting you need my help, just ask_."

"I'm not hinting anything. Actually, uh—I want you to know..." Dean hesitated, suddenly uncomfortable. "I mean, don't think..."

"_Yeah. I'm sorry too,_" Sam said quietly.

"Sam," Dean started. "You were right. You gotta do your own thing. You've got to live your own life."

"... _Are you serious?_"

"You've always known what you want. And you go after it. You stand up to Dad. And you always have. Hell, I wish I—" Dean stopped himself. "Anyway, I admire that about you. I'm proud of you, Sammy."

"_I don't even know what to say._"

"Say you'll take care of yourself."

"_I will_," he promised.

Dean let out a wavering breath. "Call me when you find Dad."

"_Okay_." Was it Dean's imagination or did Sam actually sound sad? "_Tell Hannah I'm sorry I never got to say goodbye_."

"I will," Dean agreed.

"_Bye, Dean_."

He was certain if he spoke, he'd be unable to hide what he truly felt. Instead, he hung up and shoved his phone in his pocket. For a while, Dean drove in complete silence. After another eight minutes, Hannah woke up. He opened his mouth to greet her, but his words dried up when he saw her stretch in the rear view mirror. Her body twisted like a kitten across the seats, and her chest pushed out as she stretched her arms over her head. If that wasn't enough, she let out a little sleepy _moan_.

_Fuck_, Dean thought. If that wasn't the hottest thing he'd seen in a while…

"Shit," he hissed, swerving so he wouldn't drive off the road. The sharp swerve made Hannah collide the side of her head with the window.

"Jesus, Dean," Hannah cried out. She sat up, rubbing her head. "What was _that _about?"

"There was a squirrel," Dean lied, swallowing thickly. He couldn't just tell her he was watching her. What the hell was wrong with him? She wasn't just some hot girl at a dive bar, she was _Bobby's_ kid. He needed to get laid, then he wouldn't even look twice at Hannah. "I talked to Sam."

"What did he say?" Hannah asked, her confusion vanishing.

"He's still going to California," Dean told her.

"Oh." She sounded disappointed, and Dean didn't blame her. Hannah had always been fond of Sam.

"But we, uh, made up," Dean admitted, somewhat embarrassed.

She launched forward, gasping in delight. "That's great! I hate when you guys fight."

"Why?" he asked, puzzled.

"Because I know you both feel miserable when you're apart," Hannah replied, reaching for the radio. "I guess it's us two then."

"Yeah, I guess," Dean mumbled. He swatted her hand away from the radio.

Hannah rolled her eyes and just when Dean thought she was going to sit back, she climbed over, almost kicking him as she sat in the passenger seat. Dean rolled his eyes at how she primped in front of the mirror of the sun visor. It still stunned him that a girl like her was a hunter. Then again, Dean didn't know any girl like Hannah.

* * *

"It's not every day I get a research question on pagan ideology," commented the professor.

"Well, call it a hobby," Dean replied, flashing the older man a charming smile. "Right, Hannah?"

Hannah hummed in response. She and Dean were at a local community college, seeking information about Pagan gods from one of the professors. Personally, Hannah would have gone to the library, but the library seemed to remind Dean of Sam, so that suggestion hadn't gone well. She wasn't feeling too well physically either, with a headache from hitting her head caused by Dean's stupid driving.

"But you both said you were interested in local lore?" the professor asked, frowning when both Hannah and Dean nodded. "I'm afraid Indiana isn't really known for its Pagan worship."

"You know how the Pilgrims brought over their religion when they settled here? Immigrants could have imported these ideologies. Right?" Hannah questioned, biting her lip.

"Yeah." Dean looked at her. He smiled, as if he were impressed. "Like that town near here, Burkitsville. Where are their ancestors from?"

"Uh, northern Europe, I believe. Scandinavia," the professor answered uncertainly. They walked through a hall, and Hannah could see a classroom nearby.

"What could you tell us about those pagan gods?" Dean asked.

The professor seemed uncomfortable with their questions, but answered them nevertheless. "Well, there are hundreds of Norse gods and goddesses—"

"We're actually looking for one. Might live in an orchard?" Dean cut off the old man's rambling.

"Woods god, hm? Well, let's see." The professor led them inside a classroom where he found a large book and set it down on a table. He leafed through some pages until Hannah spotted a picture of a scarecrow surrounded by farmers on one of the pages.

"Wait, wait." Dean pointed to the picture, noticing it as well. "What's that one?"

"Oh, that's not a woods god, per se," the professor explained.

Hannah leaned down, brushing back some loose strands of hair behind her ear. "'The Vanir were Norse gods of protection and prosperity, keeping the local settlements safe from harm'," she read. "'Some villages built effigies of the Vanir in their fields. Other villages practiced human sacrifice. One male, and one female'."

She and Dean shared a furtive look before Hannah straightened.

"Kind of looks like a scarecrow, huh?" Dean remarked to the professor.

"I suppose," he agreed.

"'This particular Vanir that's energy sprung from the sacred tree'?" Dean read, looking at the professor questioningly.

"Well, Pagans believed all sorts of things were infused with magic."

"So, what would happen if the sacred tree was torched? You think it'd kill the god?"

The professor laughed. "Son, these are just legends we're discussing."

Dean glanced at Hannah, smiling before turning back to the professor. "Oh, of course. Yeah, you're right. Listen, thank you very much."

"Glad I could help." Dean and the professor shook hands. Hannah mumbled a thank you as she shook the old man's hand and followed Dean to the door.

He opened the door and before Hannah could warn him, the sheriff from earlier struck Dean with his shotgun, knocking him unconscious. Hannah tried to think of a way to escape, but the sheriff was quicker, wrapping his arms around her and calling someone else's name.

"Stop screaming," hissed the sheriff, but Hannah wouldn't. She thrashed against him while screaming at the top of her lungs. She managed to elbow him in the jaw, but his hold on her did not loosen. Another man grabbed her kicking legs.

They dragged her out of the college. The sheriff shoved his fingers in her mouth to keep quiet, but she bit him instead. Hannah felt a little satisfied when the sheriff pulling his fingers out, hissing in pain. Still holding her, the sheriff handcuffed her before shoving her and Dean in the backseat of the police car.

She kicked the back of his chairs repeatedly, sickened by these people's willingness to _murder_ innocent people for some _apples_. The whole town was part of this sacrificial ritual because no one bat an eye at Hannah's screams as the sheriff shoved her and Dean's unconscious body in the cellar. The sheriff uncuffed her before hastily escaping her punches and kicks.

Dean woke up not too longer after, bruising already forming around his eye. Hannah rushed over to him, watching as he stood to his full height unsteadily.

"They're going to sacrifice us," Hannah explained before he could ask. "I tried getting away, but the sheriff and another man caught me before I could."

"Shit. This is my fault," Dean muttered, gingerly rubbing his forehead. Hannah's own head was throbbing from her headache and screaming. "We should have gone to the library like you said."

"Look, it doesn't matter who's right or wrong right now," Hannah said, crossing her arms. "What matters is that we don't die at the hands of some creepy scarecrow, so... do you have a plan?"

"Of course." Dean grinned. "I'm awesome at getting out of situations like _this_."

"Really?" Hannah wandered over to the cellar door. She had a knife in her boot, maybe she could get the door open with it.

"Hell yeah. There was this one time in New Orleans with this voodoo chick. She made this voodoo doll of me and almost killed me, but I—"

He was cut off when the cellar door opened. Hannah moved back until she bumped into Dean. A girl was pushed into the cellar, and Hannah widened her eyes when it turned out to be Emily. She was crying and begging the people outside to let them go, but they merely slammed and locked the cellar door.

"Emily?" Dean called, confused. "What are you doing down here?"

"I—I heard screaming and I saw my aunt and uncle putting you and your friend down here. Before I could do anything, they grabbed me and put me down here, saying it's 'for the common good'," Emily explained, sniffling. "I don't understand what's happening. Are they going to _kill _us?"

"They're trying to appease their god," Hannah realized, turning to Dean.

"Right, because we stole its meal," Dean said, nodding. "Emily, this may be hard to believe, but the people in this town are going to sacrifice us. Which is, I don't know, classier, I guess?"

Hannah rolled her eyes at him, before turning to Emily. "You really didn't know anything about this, did you?"

"About what? The scarecrow god?" Emily asked. She shook her head, her tears sliding down her pale cheeks. "I can't believe this."

"I know it's hard to believe this, but you _have _to believe it because we're going to need your help," Hannah told her.

"Okay," Emily agreed, her voice trembling.

"Now, we can destroy the scarecrow, but we have to find the tree," Dean said.

Emily creased her eyebrows in confusion. "What tree?"

"Maybe you can help us with that," Hannah murmured. "It would be really old. The locals would treat it with a lot of respect, you know, like it was sacred."

"There was this one apple tree," Emily told them after a moment of thinking. "The immigrants brought it over with them. They call it the First Tree."

"Is it in the orchard?" Dean questioned.

"Yeah, but I don't know where," Emily answered. Everyone froze when they heard the cellar door creak open.

It was time.

* * *

_I'm not dying at the hands of a scarecrow. I'm not dying at the hands of a scarecrow. I'm not dying at the hands of a scarecrow_, repeated in Hannah's mind. Her headache had worsened on the way to the orchard, and her throat was sore from screaming. She let her head fall back, letting it rest against the tree she was tied to.

"How many people have you killed, Sheriff?" Hannah demanded, wincing from the harshness of her own voice. "How much blood is on your hands?"

"We don't kill them," the sheriff attempted to explain.

"No, but you sure cover up after," Dean snapped. "I mean, how many cars have you hidden? How many clothes have you buried?"

The sheriff said nothing, turning away instead. Hannah tried to loosen the ropes, but they were tight around her wrists. Emily was pleading to her aunt and uncle to let her go, but they refused. Hannah felt even more disgust towards them.

"I hope your apple pie is fucking worth it!" Dean shouted at the others retreating.

"So... what's the plan?" Emily asked them.

"I'm working on it," Dean answered, still struggling against the ropes.

The sun was low in the sky when Hannah decided to ask, "Still working on that plan, Dean?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed. Hannah and Emily exchanged incredulous looks, but then they both remembered the possessed scarecrow and turned away.

Another few hours passed and it was completely dark. Fog drifted through the orchard, and at any moment, the scarecrow could kill them now. Her breath hitched when she heard rustling. _We're going to die_, Hannah thought, her heart pounding inside her chest. To her immense relief, it was Sam.

"Sam!" she exclaimed, unable to stop herself from crying of joy. They were saved!

"Oh, I take everything back I said," Dean blurted out. "I'm so happy to see you. Come on."

"How'd you get here?" Hannah asked as Sam began untying Dean from the tree.

"I, uh—I stole a car," Sam told them sheepishly. He moved over to Emily and began untying her.

"That's my boy!" Dean laughed, much to Sam's chagrin. "And keep an eye on that scarecrow. He could come alive any minute."

"What scarecrow?" Sam asked, bewildered. Hannah's heart dropped and she noticed Dean get up and wander over to the cross the scarecrow had been hung up on. "Hey, Hannah, I'm sorry for—"

"Don't be." Hannah threw her arms around Sam's neck after he untied her, hugging him close. "I'm just glad you're safe."

"I'm glad you're safe too," Sam mumbled, hugging her back. He helped her up and they went over to where Dean stood, his stance rigid. The four of them began jogging through the orchard, hoping to evade the scarecrow. "Alright, now, this sacred tree you're talking about—"

"It's the source of its power," Hannah told him. She held Emily's wrist, not wanting her to get left behind.

"So let's find it and burn it," Sam decided.

"Nah." Dean shook his head. "We do it in the morning. Let's just shag ass before Leather Face catches up."

They reached a clearing, but waiting for them were the townspeople. They pointed guns at them and when they tried to run the other way, more of them surrounded them. Hannah couldn't believe these people.

"_Please_," begged Emily, turning to her aunt and uncle. "Let us go."

"It'll be over quickly, I promise," replied her uncle. "Emily, you have to let him take you. You have to—"

He was cut off, grunting in pain. Hannah widened her eyes at the sickle jutting out of his chest, blood trickling down his open chest. Emily and her aunt started to scream, her aunt screaming louder when the scarecrow grabbed and dragged her off into the foggy darkness. Emily began to sob and ran into Dean's arms.

The rest of the townspeople ran away, too frightened to capture them. Dean motioned for her and Sam to follow, quickly realizing that this was the best time to escape. They took Sam's stolen car and drove back to the college to retrieve the Impala. Another stop was to Emily's house so she could pack a suitcase and gather whatever remaining money was left.

Hannah would have liked to watch the sun rise, but Dean urged her along and she found herself back at the sacred tree. Sam went closer to pour the gasoline over it. Hannah picked up a long branch and handed it to Dean for him to light. He was about to light the tree on fire, but Emily stopped him.

"Let me," she said. Dean obliged, giving her the lit branch.

"You know, the whole town's going to die," Dean reminded her.

"Good." Emily tossed the burning branch towards the tree, watching as it became engulfed in flames.

* * *

"Think she's going to be alright?" Sam asked them.

"I think so," Hannah said. She and the boys had dropped off Emily at the bus stop where she purchased a ticket to Boston.

"And the rest of the townspeople, they'll just get away with it?" Sam questioned, scowling.

"Well, they'll have to live with the fact that they murdered innocent people for some stupid apples," Hannah replied. Dean burst out laughing, while Sam snorted.

"So, can I drop you off somewhere?" Dean asked Sam as they walked back to the car.

"No," Sam said, much to her and Dean's surprise. "I think you're stuck with me."

Hannah's face broke into a huge smile, ecstatic that he was staying. "Oh, Sammy!" She jumped up to kiss him on the cheek, wrapping her arms around him as he swung her around in a tight embrace.

"What changed your mind?" Dean asked after Sam set her down.

"I didn't. I still want to find Dad, and you're still a pain in the ass," Sam answered, directing his last comment towards Dean. "But... Jess and Mom, they're gone. Dad is God knows where, but you and me—" Sam paused, looking down at Hannah. He nodded, a silent kind of acknowledgement that tugged at her heart. "—we're all that's left. So, if we're going to see this through, we're going to do it together."

Dean's eyes widened, and for a moment, Hannah wondered if he was going to respond with something as equally poetic. Instead, he said, "Hold me, Sam. That was beautiful."

Sam laughed with Dean, though, so Hannah couldn't find fault in Dean's lack of seriousness.

"You should be kissing my ass. You guys were dead meat, dude," Sam said, grinning as he slid into the passenger seat.

"Yeah, right. I had a plan. I'd have gotten us out," Dean huffed.

"Yes, because I totally believe you," Sam said sarcastically.

Hannah climbed in the backseat, still smiling. She was just glad the three of them were together again.


	12. Faith

**A/N: **Huge thanks to everyone for following and favoriting! Just to remind everyone, this story is a slow burn, so it will be a while before _something_ happens between Hannah and Dean. Special thanks to _grapejuice101_, _stoxy99_, _Rosalind_, _Sam Carmichael_, _Evangeline Carter_, _fangirl0012345, JenRiley16,_ _ally_, _Kat_, and two guests for the reviews!

Please enjoy and review this chapter!

**12.**

**Faith**

Dean wanted her to get the kids out of the house safely. He claimed that she was better with children than he was which was a lie. Hannah remembered watching Dean interact with a child once in Wisconsin and he had been great at it.

"Call 911. I'll go check on Dean," Sam told her. They had been outside with the kids for only a minute, but neither wanted to leave Dean alone with a rawhead.

Hannah nodded and pulled out her phone, dialing the number. She fibbed to the operator that she and her friends were driving and heard screaming in an abandoned house where they found two filthy, malnourished kids. Police and ambulance arrived soon after, but when Sam came out of the house alone, her heart nearly leapt out of her throat. He went over to the paramedics and told them something. They hurried inside the house with a stretcher.

"Sam, what happened?" Hannah demanded.

"Dean, he..." Sam wiped his eyes, and Hannah realized he was _crying_. "He stepped in a puddle of water when he... he..."

"No," she whispered. She shook her head, unwilling to believe it. "Sammy, please don't tell me he's..."

She stopped talking when she spotted the paramedics bringing Dean out of the house on a gurney towards the ambulance car. Hannah gasped sharply, choking back a sob. She would have stood there crying if Sam hadn't grasped her wrist and led her to the Impala.

He would be okay. Dean was going to be okay.

* * *

After speaking to two officers about the kids they found, Hannah wandered over to where Sam stood by the receptionist desk. She felt antsy waiting, but Hannah knew it couldn't be avoided. She had gone to nursing school and volunteered at the campus hospital, so she understood what was going on while they waited.

Hannah steeled herself for the news once she noticed Dean's doctor approach them. His body had been electrocuted, so she assumed he suffered a heart attack. The severity of it was what made her anxious.

"How is he?" Hannah asked, when the doctor reached them.

"He's resting," he answered, but there was a heaviness in his voice that worried Hannah.

"And?" Sam prompted.

"The electrocution triggered a heart attack. Pretty massive, I'm afraid," the doctor revealed. "His heart... it's damaged."

"How damaged?" Sam questioned, his voice wavering.

"We've done all we can. We can try and keep him comfortable at this point. But..." the doctor paused, shooting them both sympathetic looks. "I'd give him a couple weeks, at most. Maybe a month."

"There must be some sort of treatment you could do. Can't you do a heart transplant?" Hannah suggested. She must have sounded hysterical from the pained look on the doctor's face.

"It's a long, complicated process trying to get a heart transplant, and unfortunately, he doesn't have enough time to wait," the doctor explained to her patiently. "We can't work miracles. I really am sorry."

Hannah blinked back tears and turned away from the doctor, walking through the pristine corridors in search of Dean's room. Sam caught up with her and held her back from entering the room. He placed his hands on her shoulders, staring at her with sadness only she understood.

"Han, promise me you won't start crying in there," Sam said, "because if you start crying then _I'll _probably start crying too."

Dean looked pale and drawn, with dark circles around his tired eyes. He could barely raise his arm up from his side, using it to lift the TV remote and channel surf. How had he looked so healthy only hours before?

"Have you ever actually watched daytime TV?" Dean asked. His voice was rough and scratchy. "It's terrible."

"We talked to your doctor," Sam mentioned.

"That fabric softener teddy bear. Oh, I'm gonna hunt that little bitch down," Dean commented, ignoring his brother.

"Dean," Hannah called out. He sighed and turned off the TV, and she bit her lip when he finally looked at them, exhaustion plain on his face.

"Well, looks like you're going to leave town without me," Dean said, resigned.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, startled. "We're not leaving you here."

"Hey, you better take care of that car," Dean told Sam. "Or I swear, I'll haunt your ass."

"That's not funny," Hannah murmured, crossing her arms. Dean looked at her for a moment before averting his eyes.

There was a long moment of silence. Hannah glanced at Sam and her heart ached when she noticed his head down, hiding his tears. She wasn't doing much better; tears were pricking her eyes again, but she refused to shed any.

"Well, what do you want me to say?" Dean asked them. "It's a dangerous gig, guys. I drew the short straw. That's it. End of story."

"Don't talk like that, alright? We still have options," Sam persisted.

"What options? Yeah, burial or cremation," Dean muttered, then rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't look at me like that, Princess. I know it's not easy. But I'm going to die, and you two can't stop it."

Sam clenched his jaw then with enough determination, he said, "Watch us," and whirled, leaving Hannah and Dean in the room. She didn't follow him, and instead went over to the chair next to Dean.

"You don't have to give up so easily," Hannah murmured as she sat down.

"Aren't you going with him?" Dean grumbled, picking up the remote and turning on the TV.

"No. We agreed that one of us should stay with you," she told him, fiddling with a loose string on the sleeve of her sweater.

"I don't need someone babysitting me," snapped Dean, turning to glare at her.

"I'm not babysitting you," Hannah corrected, looking up. "You never left my side when I was in the hospital, so it wouldn't be right if I wasn't with you right now."

His eyes went wide, but then he frowned. "How do you know that?" he asked, no rancor in his voice anymore.

"My dad."

"Just because I stuck around doesn't mean _you_ have to."

"I'm sticking around because I care about you! You think I'd let you sit here and be miserable by yourself? What kind of person do you take me for?"

They stared at each other, but for once, Dean broke away first and focused on the TV. His expression was dispassionate as he changed channels. Hannah bit her lip. She couldn't understand why he was giving up so easily. If it were Sam acting so resigned, Dean wouldn't have stood for it. Didn't he _want _them to try and save him?

Shyly, she reached over the bed and took his right hand in hers. He looked at her, startled, then down at their hands. Hannah expected him to tear his hand away, knowing that Dean disliked being, well, Hannah didn't want to say _intimate_, but affectionate with her or Sam, yet… yet he twined their fingers together and slipped his thumb underneath her sleeve to rub her wrist.

"You're going to be fine, Dean," Hannah insisted. "You just can't stop fighting."

Dean smiled at her, but even that small action seemed to exhaust him. "You're a sweet girl, Hannah," he said, returning his focus to the TV. "But sweet girls shouldn't lie."

"I'm not lying. You're still young. You can survive this, but you won't if you just throw in the towel."

"Your optimism won't save me this time, Hannah," Dean said nonchalantly, but Hannah knew he couldn't have truly felt so unconcerned with his life because his grip on her hand tightened.

* * *

For the past three days, the nurses had tried to get Hannah to leave each time visiting hours had ended, but she refused every time. It hurt to see him in bed so weak, but she couldn't leave him alone to suffer. Every morning, she'd go back to the motel room, take a shower, change her clothes, then return to the hospital. Sam was usually busy researching heart attacks on his laptop or on the phone with someone. Hannah would write down little notes from what she remembered from school about heart attacks before heading back to the hospital where Dean was still channel surfing

She was only glad she insisted on staying with Dean because on the fourth day, he decided to check himself _out _of it. Hannah tried to reason with him, but her attempts were in vain. He hated hospitals and would rather die on the road than in a clean hospital room.

"You're insane," she told him.

"Yeah, well, can you really blame me?" Dean asked, shrugging on his black hoodie. "I think I'd lose it if I stayed here any longer."

Dean took a step forward, but stumbled. Hannah hastily stepped in front of him and caught him. His weight was almost crushing, but she managed to keep him on his feet. Her face pressed into his chest as she kept him steady. She could hear the uneven beat of his damaged heart. Tears pricked her eyes, but Hannah couldn't break down.

"Hannah." His hand touched her back. "I can move on my own."

She stepped back and turned away before he could see her glimmering eyes. Wiping away stray tears, she offered him her arm and together, they slowly left the hospital.

"Think Sam came up with anything?" Hannah inquired, hopeful. She sat in the backseat of the taxi the hospital had kindly called for them.

"He won't let me die in peace, will he?" Dean questioned, resting his head against the window.

"You won't die," Hannah said determinedly.

"My heart is fucked up, Hannah," Dean reminded her, rolling his head to look at her. "You went to nursing school, didn't you? So, you know what my chances are."

He stared at her expectantly. She stared back, then looked down at her lap. She did know his chances, but he could survive this. Dean wouldn't die. He couldn't. Hannah didn't know what Sam would do if he did. What _she'd _do if he did.

Hannah paid the taxi driver once they reached their motel and helped Dean out of the car. Dean leaned against the wall, his entire body trembling from exerting himself. Her arms went around his waist again, pressing herself against him to keep him from collapsing.

"Hannah." His voice had gone an octave lower than usual and that was enough to make her lift her head from his chest.

"Don't die," she whispered. "If you feel you can't go on, then go, but if you don't want to... then please, _please_ fight it. If not for yourself then for Sam."

"What about you?" he asked.

She swallowed thickly, ignoring her unbidden tears sliding down her cheeks. "I wouldn't mind if you stuck around," was the only thing she could say. His eyes softened and he nodded. Hannah pulled away and knocked on the door.

Sam opened it, looking completely bewildered and startled at the sight of Dean. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I checked myself out," Dean answered, pushing past Sam and inside the motel room.

"I tried to stop him," Hannah said, when Sam looked at her. "But he wouldn't listen."

"Are you _crazy?"_ Sam asked, watching as Dean staggered over to the nearest chair.

"Well, I'm not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren't even hot," Dean replied, shrugging.

Hannah rolled her eyes while Sam chuckled humorlessly.

"You know this whole I-laugh-in-the-face-of-death thing? It's crap. I can see right through it," Sam told him, shutting the door behind Hannah.

"Yeah, whatever, dude," Dean muttered, sitting down. "Have you even slept? You look worse than me."

"I've been scouring the Internet for the last three days. Calling every contact in Dad's journal," Sam explained, sitting down on the edge of his bed. Hannah joined him, careful not to sit on any of his research.

"For what?" Dean asked, genuinely confused.

"For a way to help you!" Hannah couldn't believe Dean would actually think that Sam would just let Dean slowly die.

Sam shot her an amused look. "One of Dad's friends, Joshua, called me back. Told me about a guy in Nebraska. A specialist."

Dean frowned at them. "Neither of you are going to let me die in peace, are you?"

"We're not letting you die, _period_," Sam corrected, his smile more upbeat than Hannah had seen in a long time. "We're going."

Hannah grinned and stood to help him pack, ignoring the groan released from Dean.

* * *

_This place is more depressing than a hospital_, thought Hannah, trying not to frown as the Impala parked on the muddy, gravel rutted ground amongst other cars. She had thought Sam meant a miracle doctor when he said "specialist," but then again, there were plenty of miracles surrounding religion. She just wondered how Dean would take it.

Hannah slid out of the car, wincing when her feet stepped in mud. She shivered from the chilly air and crossed her arms, hugging herself. She watched as Dean slowly got out of the passenger seat. He grimaced, gripping the door handle to keep himself up. Sam rushed around the car to help, but Dean pushed him away.

"I got it," he snapped, shutting the door behind him. Hurt flashed across Sam's features, but he merely nodded and walked alongside him. "Man, you are a lying bastard. I thought you said we were going to see a doctor."

"I believe I said a specialist," Sam corrected. "Look, Dean, this guy's supposed to be the real deal."

"I can't believe you brought me here to see some guy who heals people out of a _tent_," Dean hissed, annoyance coloring his tone.

"Reverend LeGrange is a great man," spoke an older woman passing by.

"Yeah, that's nice," Dean said sarcastically.

They passed by a protester arguing with a police officer. Soon enough, the officer was forcing the protester away from the tent and off the church property. Hannah watched him for a moment before returning her attention back to Dean who was still bickering with Sam.

"This may not be the most ideal choice in helping you, but is it so bad if you try?" Hannah pleaded.

"Oh, come on, Princess, a _faith healer_?" Dean questioned. His words were scathing.

"Maybe it's time to have a little faith, Dean," Sam simply replied.

"You know what I've got faith in?" Dean demanded, scowling. "Reality. Knowing what's really going on."

"How can you be a skeptic? With the things we see every day?" Sam asked, staring at Dean oddly.

"Exactly. We see them, we know they're real," Dean answered in a huff.

"But if you know evil's out there, how can you not believe good's out there, too?" Hannah asked him, shocked at how cynical he was.

Dean fixed her with a cold look, yet his words seemed to be directed towards her. "Because I've seen what evil does to good people."

They stared at each other for a moment, but both turned away when another person spoke up. "Maybe God works in mysterious ways," suggested a blonde woman.

It surprised neither Hannah nor Sam when Dean's scowl fell and was replaced with a flirtatious smile. Even when he was pale and exhausted, Dean managed to make himself look handsome enough to flirt with a pretty girl. Hannah would have been impressed if she weren't annoyed.

"Maybe he does," he agreed, giving the blonde a slow once over. "I think you just turned me around on the subject."

"Yeah, I'm sure," the girl said, humoring him.

"I'm Dean." He held his hand out. "This is my brother Sam and our friend Hannah."

"Layla." She shook Dean's hand. "So, if you're not a believer, then why are you here?"

"Well, apparently these two believe enough for the three of us," Dean replied, gesturing to Hannah and Sam.

An older woman whom Hannah assumed was Layla's mother approached them, wrapping her arm around Layla's shoulders. "Come on, Layla. It's about to start," she reminded her. She smiled warmly at the three of them before ushering Layla inside the tent.

"Well, I bet you she can work in _some_ mysterious ways," quipped Dean, his eyes following Layla's every movement.

"You are such a pig," Hannah uttered, staring at him with mild disgust.

Dean smirked, but said nothing. With some effort, he entered the tent with her and Sam following. Inside the tent was full of crippled and ill people. There was a small stage in the front, with a lectern and candles on it.

He nudged her and tilted his head towards the corner of the tent. "Yeah, peace, love, and trust all over."

Hannah followed his stare, spotting the security camera. She shook her head, brushing off Dean's cynicism and started to walk again. She paused, noticing Dean and Sam bickering again about their seats. Hannah frowned as Dean continued to brush off Sam's offers for help. Hannah hated seeing him struggle to walk, so she ignored his grumblings and looped her arm through his, leading him to sit in an aisle behind Layla and her mother.

"I said I got it," he hissed, shooting her a dirty look.

"Oh, stop being such a baby and let us help you," Hannah hissed back.

"I'm not being a baby," Dean grumbled, grudgingly sitting down in a seat between her and Sam. "I can walk just fine. You two are treating me like I'm some—"

He stopped speaking abruptly and unhooked his arm from hers. Hannah tried not to feel offended and opted to look at the stage where a blind man was being helped to the lectern by a blonde woman.

"Each morning, my wife, Sue Ann, reads me the news. Never seems good, does it?" commented Reverend LeGrange. Everyone else hummed in agreement. "Seems like there's always someone committing some immoral, unspeakable act. But, I say to you, God is watching."

"Yes, he is," murmured the crowd.

"God rewards the good, and He punishes the corrupt," he continued. There were more murmurs and some cheers yet Hannah could only focus on the grimace on Dean's face. He looked so uncomfortable and out of place. "It is the Lord who does the healing here friends. The Lord who guides me in choosing who to heal by helping me see into people's hearts."

"Yeah, and into their wallets," Dean quipped quietly to Sam. Hannah pinched his arm.

Reverend LeGrange looked around until his gaze somehow landed in Dean's direction. "You think so, young man?" Dean had the decency to look abashed as he apologized, but the blind man brushed it off. "No, no. Don't be. Just watch what you say around a blind man, we've got real sharp ears.

Along with the rest of the crowd, Hannah chuckled.

"What's your name, son?" he asked.

Dean was hesitant, filling the expectant silence by clearing his throat. "Dean," he eventually answered.

"Dean," repeated LeGrange, nodding to himself. "I want you to come up here with me."

Sam and Hannah exchanged surprised looks. She couldn't believe it. Dean would get healed, he wouldn't die, he'd—

"No." Hannah snapped her head at Dean, staring at him in shock. "No, it's okay."

"What are you _doing?_" whispered Sam, boggled.

"You've come here to be healed, haven't you?" LeGrange questioned.

"Well, yeah, but..." Dean's reluctance made Hannah want to yell at him. "Maybe you should just pick someone else."

Hannah thought Sam would have an aneurysm at any moment.

"Oh, no. I didn't pick you, Dean, the Lord did," replied LeGrange.

"_That's right!__"_

"_Yeah!__"_

"_Come on!__"_

"Get up there!" Sam exclaimed, urging him along.

Reluctantly, Dean stood and walked unsteadily towards the stage. Sue Ann helped Dean to stand next to her blind husband. Hannah strained to hear what Dean was saying to LeGrange, but couldn't over the excited whispers.

"Pray with me, friends," said Reverend LeGrange.

Everyone with the exception of Hannah and Sam lifted their arms and joined hands. Hannah wasn't sure if she should join in, but from the shrug Sam gave, she decided to participate. _This is for Dean_, she reminded herself.

LeGrange placed one hand on Dean's shoulder and the other on the side of his head. Hannah creased her eyebrows together when she saw Dean's expression go blank, his eyes glazed. His knees gave out, and Hannah could see his eyes roll back as he fell backwards. The crowd burst into excited clapping.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, jumping out of his seat. Hannah followed closely behind, her heart beating faster. Had something gone wrong with the faith healing? She hoped he hadn't... Hannah couldn't even finish the thought.

She dropped to her knees beside Dean, waiting anxiously to see if he'd wake. Sam was practically shaking him, begging him to wake and say something. Hannah let out a relieved cry when Dean's eyes opened and his entire body jerked forward. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him until his body stopped shivering. One of his arms went up to hers, his hand touching her wrist and squeezing her.

"How do you feel, son?" LeGrange asked, still smiling.

"I..." He blinked a couple of times as he sat up straighter. "I'm fine. I feel fine."

Everyone cheered and clapped louder. Sam was on his feet, thanking the reverend profusely. Hannah let go of Dean and helped him off the ground. After some urging, Dean approached LeGrange and thanked him before hastily making their leave. Hannah would have jumped up and down with joy if the ground outside wasn't so muddy. Dean was healed! He would live!

Yet the uneasy look on his face made her doubt if there was truly anything to celebrate.

* * *

"Why can't I wear black again?" Dean asked. He lounged on his bed, watching her. It made her belly flutter with butterflies, but she tried to ignore them as she brushed her hair in front of the mirror.

"You wear black when in mourning, but no one has, you know, _died_, so we should wear something a little brighter," Hannah answered, waving her brush around. "And black is so depressing."

"But I've seen you wear black," he pointed out.

"Not _full _black," she said, rolling her eyes. "Aren't you happy that you're healthy now?"

"We don't know that." Hannah turned around to look at him. "We still have to hear what the doctor says."

Sam stepped out of the bathroom. He glanced between them. "Are we ready to go?"

"More than ready," Dean grumbled, standing.

Sam led them out of the motel room and to the Impala. The drive to the hospital was spent in silence, the absence of sound being broken every now and again with Sam's occasional, "Are you _sure _you're okay?" Dean would always respond with a biting, "I'm _fine_." Maybe physically he was fine, but Hannah was observant enough to notice the slight frown on his face.

Since it was only her and Sam with him, they were allowed to join Dean in the checkup room where a different doctor examined him.

"So, you _really_ feel okay?" Sam asked for the twentieth time.

"I feel fine, Sam," bit out Dean. He looked up when the doctor returned with his results.

"Well, according to all your tests there's nothing wrong with your heart," the doctor revealed. Relief filled Hannah and Sam smiled at the doctor's words. "No sign there ever was. Not that a man your age should be having heart trouble, but, still it's strange. It does happen."

"What do you mean strange?" Dean questioned, his frown deepening.

"Well, just yesterday, a young guy like you, twenty-seven, athletic. Out of nowhere, heart attack," the doctor told him.

Dean considered her words, then nodded and thanked the doctor who left them alone in the checkup room. "That's odd," he remarked.

"Maybe it's a coincidence," Hannah said with a small shrug.

"Han's right. People's hearts give out all the time," Sam added.

"No, they don't," Dean murmured, pensive.

Pensiveness wasn't a frequent emotion that made its way on Dean's face. Not that Hannah didn't think Dean was capable of having deeper thoughts—she knew he was smarter than he let on—but it was just so... unusual on his face.

"Look, Dean, do we really have to look this one in the mouth?" Sam asked, sounding frustrated. "Why can't we just be thankful that the guy saved your life and move on?"

"Because I can't shake this feeling, that's why," Dean answered, standing to his feet. Something twisted in Hannah's gut, but she was too afraid to ask.

"What feeling?" Sam asked for the both of them.

Dean turned his back to them as he shrugged on his jacket. "When I was healed, I just..." He struggled to find the words. "I felt _wrong_. I felt cold. And for a second... I saw someone. This, uh, this old man. And I'm telling you, guys, it was a spirit."

_No, no, no_, Hannah thought, dread spreading throughout her. It felt as if she had become drained of all emotion but fear, a chill creeping down her spine and sinking deep into her flesh. This couldn't be happening. This _could not_ be happening.

Sam did not seem fazed with Dean's account of his healing. "But if there was something there, Dean, I think _we_ would have seen it, too. Right, Han?" Hannah could only nod her head stiffly. "I mean, I've been seeing an awful lot of things lately."

"Well, excuse me, psychic wonder. But you're just gonna need a little faith on this one," Dean retorted, throwing Sam's words back in his face. "Sam, I've been hunting long enough to trust a feeling like this."

"Yeah, alright," sighed Sam. "So, what do you want to do?"

"I want you and Hannah to go check out heart attack guy. I'm going to—"

"No," Hannah cut in. "I'll go with you to see the reverend."

They both stared at her, Sam puzzled by her switch while Dean's was brooding—another emotion that did not settle well on him.

"Okay," Dean agreed, nodding slowly. "You need me to drop you off?"

He directed his last question to Sam who shook his head. They separated once they were outside of the hospital. It wasn't until she and Dean reached the Impala and climb inside did he decide to question her.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked, blunt. Hannah widened her eyes and Dean quickly elaborated. "I mean, why did you look so scared back there?"

Hannah hesitated, too afraid to even bring up what she remembered, but forced herself to speak after seeing the way he was looking at her, like he cared. Wait, what was Hannah thinking? _Of course_ Dean cared about her. He had told her that she was one of the few people he trusted, so why wouldn't he care for someone he trusted?

"That old man you saw..." Hannah said quietly. "I saw him too."

Dean's jaw went slack, taken aback. "You... you _did?"_

"Not yesterday," she told him, "but when I was in the hospital. Right after the vampire job."

"Hannah..."

"And I felt everything you described. Like something cold just grabs your heart and squeezes it... and then there's this... this _chill _that goes through you and it feels horrible and..."

"Yeah," Dean breathed, nodding. "Exactly like that."

Hazy memories from six years ago flooded her, threatening to drown her. Hannah remembered fading in and out of consciousness on the way to the hospital. It was only when they put her on a bed and took her to the emergency room did Hannah—even in the state of losing blood—realize the severity of the situation. She could actually _die_, and what made it worse was that Hannah would never have ended up in that situation if she hadn't pulled such a _stupid_ move during their hunt.

Then she saw the aged face of the old man standing behind all the doctors. Hannah could remember vividly how terrified she felt when the old man began to approach her. She couldn't speak or move any part of her body, and it had seemed like none of the doctors noticed him. The pounding of her heart had gotten louder to the point that it drowned out everyone else's voices. She had felt colder the closer the old man got to her, so cold it had been overwhelming.

And just when Hannah was on the edge of death, unable to handle the chill much longer or the unforgiving gaze of the old man, a bright, blinding light blocked her dimming vision. Hannah swore she heard the light _say_ something, but she had passed out and the next time she woke, she was out of the emergency room and in a regular patient's room. Dean had been there, looking positively relieved despite the dark circles under his eyes.

"So," Dean started, turning on the car. "You know what we're dealing with?"

"A reaper," she answered, putting on her seatbelt. "I had looked it up when I got out of the hospital."

"You sure it's a reaper?" he asked, glancing at her.

"Are you really questioning my knowledge?" Hannah asked, staring at him.

Dean snorted. "Of course not. I'd _never _question you. You know everything, after all."

Hannah slapped his arm, though it was halfhearted. She picked lifted her hamsa amulet, playing with it before letting it go. "Dean?" she called, looking up. "You know, I never told anyone that."

His eyes softened, but then his teasing smile returned as he said, "I feel so special."

"Shut up." Hannah hit his arm again.

* * *

Sue Ann opened the door and seemed surprised to see them. She smiled and stepped aside to let them after Dean asked if he could speak to the reverend.

"I'm sorry, I never got your name," said Sue Ann, tilting her head in Hannah's direction.

"It's Hannah," she answered, smiling. "You have a lovely home."

"Thank you. Did you two want some iced tea?" Sue Ann inquired. She gestured for Hannah and Dean to sit on the loveseat.

"Sure." Hannah shifted in her seat, tugging the hem of her green skirt.

Reverend LeGrange arrived sometime later, smiling affably. "I smell... flowers."

"That would be me," Hannah said, smiling sheepishly. She had dabbed her floral fragrance behind her ear, on the pit of her elbows, and on her wrists. "I'm Hannah."

"Hannah," he repeated, slowly seating himself in a chair across from them. "A biblical name. It means _grace_."

Dean snorted and muttered something. Hannah would have glared at him if Sue Ann hadn't returned with a pitcher of iced tea.

"How do you feel, Dean?" he inquired as his wife poured them glasses.

"I feel great. Just trying to..." Dean trailed off, unsure of how to word it. "You know, make sense of what happened."

"A miracle is what happened," Sue Ann answered firmly, handing Dean his glass of iced tea. "Well, miracles come so often around Roy."

"When did they start? The miracles?" Dean asked the reverend. Hannah thanked Sue Ann as she handed accepted her glass of iced tea.

"Woke up one morning, stone blind. Doctors figured out I had cancer. Told me I had maybe a month," Roy told them. "So, uh, we prayed for a miracle. I was weak, but I told Sue Ann, 'You just keep right on praying.' I went into a coma. Doctors said I wouldn't wake up, but I did. And the cancer was gone."

Roy took off his sunglasses. His pupils were pale. "If it wasn't for these eyes, no one would believe I'd ever had it," he finished, putting his sunglasses back on.

"And suddenly you could heal people?" Hannah questioned, crossing her legs.

"I discovered it afterward, yes. God's blessed me in many ways," Roy replied.

"And his flock just swelled overnight. And this is just the beginning," Sue Ann added, smiling and taking her husband's hand.

"Can I ask you one last question?" Dean asked, hesitant.

"Of course you can." Roy smiled encouragingly.

"Why... why me?" Dean asked, staring straight at Roy. "Out of all the sick people... why save me?"

Hannah couldn't believe what he was saying. It was almost unfathomable. How could he think he wasn't important enough to be saved? Dean rescued people for a living, without pay or any recognition. She had an overwhelming urge to hug him. Or slap him. Whichever one worked.

"Well, like I said before, the Lord guides me," Roy started. "I looked into your heart, and you just stood out from all the rest."

"What did you see in my heart?" Dean questioned.

"A young man with an important purpose. A job to do," the blind reverend answered. "And it isn't finished."

Dean considered the older man's words. He looked at Hannah, frowning and almost disbelieving. He turned to the LeGranges to thank them and walked with Hannah out of their house. Hannah opened her mouth, ready to assure Dean that he was worth saving, but paused, almost crashing into Layla and her mother.

"Dean, hey," Layla greeted then looked in Hannah's direction, acknowledging her with a smile. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel good. Cured, I guess. What are you doing here?"

"You know, my mom wanted to talk to the reverend."

Hannah glanced behind her when she heard the door open. It was Sue Ann. "Layla?" she asked, confused.

"Yes, I'm here again," Layla said softly.

"Well, I'm sorry, but Roy is resting. He won't be seeing anyone else right now," Sue Ann informed her.

"Sue Ann, please. This is our sixth time, he's got to see us," Layla's mother pleaded.

"Roy is well aware of Layla's situation. And he very much wants to help just as soon as the Lord allows it," Sue Ann told her evenly. She then offered them both a smile. "Have faith, Mrs. Rourke."

Sue Ann went back inside, leaving Mrs. Rourke sputtering after her. She stared at the closed door with hard eyes before turning to look at Dean, spite plain on her face.

"Why are you still even here?" she demanded, and the scorn in her voice made Hannah flinch. "You got what you wanted."

"Mom. Stop," Layla whispered, shooting Dean an apologetic look.

"No, Layla, this is too much. We've been to _every_ single service. If Roy would stop choosing these strangers over you." Mrs. Rourke directed every scathing word to Dean. "Strangers who don't even _believe_. I just can't pray any harder."

"Layla, what's wrong?" Dean asked, ignoring the older woman's glare.

"I have this thing..." Layla started hesitantly.

"It's a brain tumor," her mother snapped. "It's inoperable. In six months, the doctors say—"

Layla put a hand on her mother's shoulder, stopping her. Sympathy panged in Hannah's heart. She understood Mrs. Rourke's frustrations, but there was no need to take it out on Dean.

"I'm sorry," Dean said quietly.

"It's okay," Layla murmured.

"No, it's not," Mrs. Rourke corrected her daughter. She turned to Dean, furious. "Why do you deserve to live more than my daughter?"

"How can you call yourself a Christian woman?" Hannah demanded. All heads snapped in her direction. "How can you say someone deserves to live more than someone else? _Everybody_ deserves to live. Do you think God would just—"

"Hannah, stop," Dean hissed, grabbing her forearm. "Let's just go."

She fixed the older woman with a baleful look before allowing Dean to lead her back to the car. Hannah tore her arm out of his grasp and slid in the passenger seat. Dean said nothing as he started the car and drove away from the church. It was quiet most of the drive back to the motel until Hannah decided to speak up.

"You don't..." Hannah met his eyes as he parked the car in the parking lot. "You don't believe anything that woman was saying, do you?"

"But she's right," Dean said, still gripping the driver's wheel. "Why do I deserve to live more than Layla? I don't even believe in this shit and she does."

"So what if you don't believe in God? That doesn't mean you shouldn't get a chance to live," Hannah countered.

"But she's _right_, Hannah. I don't deserve any of this," he stressed, lowering his head. "And Layla's this nice girl with a fucking brain tumor... and if you didn't know me, you'd agree that I shouldn't have been saved over her."

"Don't you dare say that," she snapped. "I'd never wish that upon anyone, and yeah, you can be..." Hannah gestured with her hands, making Dean smile briefly. "But you're a good person, Dean, and there shouldn't be any more reason than that to save you."

Dean stared at her, his expression the most open and vulnerable she'd ever seen it. Heat rushed to her face from how focused his eyes were on hers. Did her heart just skip a beat? From the pure silence in the car, Hannah hoped he didn't hear her quickening heartbeat. But if that made him understand what he meant to her, then let him hear it.

"You really think I'm a good person?" he asked, his voice quiet yet thunderous in the still silence.

"One of the best men I know," Hannah admitted, gazing at him. She couldn't break eye contact, as much as her heart threatened to burst from beating so fast. "I couldn't…"

_I couldn't lose you_, she almost said. Those four words were dangerous. Speaking them aloud would certainly ask questions, and the answers Hannah had she desperately tried to bury… but they always seemed to trudge back to the surface.

The quietness was broken by the unbuckling of Dean's belt. "We should see if Sam found anything."

She looked at him, confused at the sudden change, then remembered their situation. "Right. Sam."

Sam was on his laptop at the table when they entered their motel room. Hannah draped her arms over his shoulders, putting nearly all her weight on his back. He barely acknowledged her, keeping his focus on his laptop.

"What'd you find out?" Hannah asked, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Sam mumbled, glancing at Dean.

"Sorry about what?" Dean questioned. He sounded distracted for a minute, and Hannah wondered if he was still thinking about Mrs. Rourke.

"Marshall Hall died at 4:17," sighed Sam, leaning back. Hannah widened her eyes and stood up straight.

"What?" she asked, exchanging a startled look with Dean.

"The exact time I died," Dean remarked, stunned.

"Yeah. So, I put together a list of everyone Roy's healed. Six people over the past year, and I cross-checked them with the local obits," Sam told them as he turned around in his chair. "Every time someone was healed, someone else died. And each time, the victim died of the same symptom LeGrange was healing at the time."

An uncomfortable silence settled over them, and Dean seemed so shocked he had to sit down in the chair across from Sam. Hannah crossed her arms, creasing her eyebrows as she assessed what Sam told them. She figured that LeGrange was trading a person's life for another, and when she said so, Sam nodded in agreement.

"Wait, wait, wait. So, Marshall Hall _died_ to save me?" Dean asked.

"Dean, the guy probably would've died anyway," Sam replied, his frown deepening. "And someone else would've been healed."

Dean shot Sam an angry look as he paced the room. "You never should've brought me here."

"Dean, I was just trying to save your life," Sam explained. He looked so forlorn that Hannah couldn't fault him for anything.

"But, Sam, some guy is dead now because of me," Dean snapped, no longer pacing.

"I didn't know," Sam murmured, looking at his brother apologetically. "The thing I don't understand is how is Roy doing it? How's he trading a life for a life?"

"He's not doing it," Hannah told him.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, turning to Hannah with a questioning look. Hannah glanced at Dean, hoping he could explain. She didn't have the energy to tell Sam about what she saw back in the hospital room six years ago.

He seemed to get the message and took a seat across from Sam again. "The old man I saw on stage. I didn't want to believe it, but deep down I knew."

_So he was just teasing me then_, Hannah thought, recalling their earlier conversation in the car.

"You knew what? What are you guys _talking_ about?" Sam questioned, confused.

"There's only one thing that can give and take life like that," Hannah said, trying not to let out a shuddering breath as she spoke. "And that's a reaper."

* * *

After hours of research, Hannah and the boys managed to find plenty of information about reapers. Hannah and Sam next to each other since they were sharing his laptop, while Dean went over the papers they printed.

"You guys really think it's _the _Grim Reaper?" Sam suddenly asked in disbelief. "Like, angel of death, collect your soul, the whole deal?"

"No, not _the _reaper. _A _reaper," Dean corrected, looking up from a picture of a traditional looking grim reaper.

"There's reaper lore in pretty much every culture on earth," Hannah said without taking her eyes of Sam's laptop. She had been writing down some notes she found unusual about reapers. "It goes by a hundred different names, like in ancient Greece, they called it Thanatos while in Mexico they refer it as _Santa Muerte_. I mean, it's possible there's more than one of them."

"But..." Sam glanced at his brother. "Dean said he saw a dude in a suit."

"What, you think he should have been working the whole black robe thing?" Dean asked derisively. "You said it yourself that the clock stopped, right? Reapers stop time. And you can only see them when they're coming at you which is why I could see it and you couldn't."

"Maybe," Sam muttered, and Hannah glanced up at Dean. He was staring at her expectantly, but Hannah quickly returned to taking her notes. She couldn't tell Sam, not yet anyway.

"There's nothing else it could be, Sam," Hannah said, clearing her throat.

"The question is how is Roy controlling the damn thing?" Dean groused, slumping in his seat.

Sam paused, realization dawning on his face. "That cross," he suddenly said.

"What?" Dean asked, still slumped.

"There was this cross, I noticed it in the church and I knew I had seen it before," Sam explained as he took out a pack of tarot cards and shuffled through them. He finally found the one he'd been looking for and showed it to Hannah and Dean.

"A tarot?" Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam.

"It makes sense," Sam murmured. "A tarot dates back to the early Christian era, right? When some priests were still using magic? And a few of them veered into the dark stuff? Necromancy and how to push death away, how to cause it?"

"So, Roy's using black magic to bind the reaper?" Dean questioned, skeptical.

"If he is, he's riding the whirlwind. It's like putting a dog leash on a great white," Sam replied.

"Nice analogy," Hannah commented. She flashed a smile when Sam shot her a look, but he shook his head, chuckling.

"Okay, then we stop Roy," Dean decided, standing from his chair and going over to the sink.

"How?" inquired Hannah, twisting around in her seat to look at him.

"You _know_ how," Dean told her.

Hannah was about to tell him _no_, she did _not_ know how they would stop Roy when Sam turned in his seat to gape at Dean. She frowned, confused as some kind of surreptitious message was passed between the brothers.

"Wait, what the hell are you talking about, Dean?" Sam demanded, no longer gaping. "We can't _kill _Roy."

"_What_?" Hannah gasped, staring at Dean in shock.

A scowl slowly fixed itself onto Dean's face. "Hannah, the guy's playing _God_. He's deciding who lives and who dies. That's a monster in my book."

"No," Hannah said firmly. She got out of her chair and stepped in front of him. "We're not going to kill a human being, Dean. It's _wrong_."

"Well then, _what_ are we supposed to do?" Dean snapped. "You got any bright ideas, Princess?"

They stared at each other, and it was like staring into a mirror. She could see her own frustration on his face.

"If Roy's using some kind of black spell on the reaper..." spoke up Sam, putting an end to Hannah and Dean's staring contest. "We got to figure out what it is. And how to break it."

Dean leaned against the counter, contemplating Sam's suggestion. Hannah preferred it to murdering a person, and a part of her was disappointed that Roy would do something like this. He had seemed so nice yesterday. Maybe his intentions weren't entirely evil.

"Fine," Dean relented, then gestured for them to get up. "But if this doesn't work out, we do it my way."

"Hopefully it does," Hannah muttered as she followed Dean out of the motel.

* * *

Hannah's insides twisted from how nervous she felt as the car neared the church. Knowing now that they were dealing with a reaper scared her, and her heart was doing flips from the thought of being unable to stop the reaper from taking another innocent life.

"If Roy's using a spell, there might be a spell book," Hannah told them as Dean parked the Impala.

"See if you can find it," Dean said distractedly. He glanced at the watch on his wrist. "Hurry up too. The service starts in fifteen minutes. I'll try to stall Roy."

The protester from the other day was here again, and Hannah found it ironic that while he was right about Roy being a fraud, there was still something supernatural about the way he healed people.

"Roy LeGrange is a fraud. He's no healer," declared the protester, handing Dean a flyer.

"Amen, brother," Dean agreed, accepting the flyer.

"You keep up the good work," Sam added, walking passed him. Hannah flashed the man an encouraging smile as she tried to keep up with Sam's quick strides.

"Thank you," called the man.

She and Sam managed to sneak in through the window once they were out of everyone's sight. Hannah smiled sheepishly when she accidentally bumped into Sam. He smiled back, but he returned his focus back on their task. They drifted over to the bookshelf, searching for any suspicious looking titles on the spines of the books.

"How were you so sure it was a reaper?" Sam inquired, crouching down to look at the bottom shelf.

"Because I saw it before," Hannah answered quietly.

"When did you see it?" he asked softly, getting to his feet.

Hannah felt a shot of fear pulsate through her. "The vampire job."

Sam frowned, concerned. "It was _that_ bad?"

She nodded, unable to speak. Sam hadn't seen her when she was bleeding out, feverish, and corpse-like. He'd only seen her when she was awake, alert, and filled with the blood transplanted into her.

Forcing a smile, Hannah gestured to the bookshelf and Sam seemed to remember why they were there. They kept searching until Sam nudged her and gestured to a book titled _Encyclopedia of British History_. It was the only book without dust on it. Sam flipped the pages, but nothing stood out in it. Hannah glanced back at the bookshelf then did a double take.

"Check this out," Hannah murmured, pulling out a small black book that had been hidden behind the encyclopedia. She handed Sam the book while she read the newspaper articles. Each article was about a person who recently died, and Hannah recognized all of them.

"You see this cross?" Sam suddenly asked, pointing to a wooden cross pictured on one of the pages of the book. "I saw the same one in the church the other day."

"Sam, Roy's choosing people who don't follow his beliefs," Hannah realized. "Like the man who died when Dean was healed? He was an openly gay teacher. An abortions rights advocate died while _jogging_."

"And his next victim is the protester," Sam completed, widening his eyes. "Come on. We have to find him."

Taking the small black book with them, Hannah fumbled for her phone as she and Sam rushed towards the parking lot. She went to contacts and called Dean's number. He answered almost immediately.

"_What have you got?_"

"Roy's choosing victims he sees as sinful," Hannah answered, scanning the parking lot for the protester. "We think we know who's next on his list. Do you remember that protester?"

"_What, the guy in the parking lot?_" he asked.

"Yeah, we'll find him. But you can't let Roy heal anyone, okay?"

"_Got it_."

They hung up and Hannah tried to keep up with Sam as they searched the parking lot. Hannah weaved through cars until she heard someone shouting for help. She whirled, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. She spotted Sam's brown head across the parking lot and jogged over to him where the protester from earlier was.

"_Help! Help me please!_" shouted the man, frantic.

"Where is he?!" Sam asked him, looking around wildly. The man grabbed Sam by the shoulder and pointed in front of them.

"Right there!" he yelled, his voice shrill with fear.

"Follow us. Come on!" Sam urged the man to follow them. "I'm Sam and this is Hannah. What's your name?"

"David," answered the man. He sounded out of breath. "What the _hell_ is happening?"

Hannah looked around, wondering if she could sense if the reaper was nearby. The air chilled around her, and goose bumps pickled her skin. _Where is it?_ She wondered. She flinched when she heard Sam's phone ring.

Sam held his phone to his ear, nodding at whatever Dean said. He turned to David and said, "I think it's okay."

David let out a relieved sigh and turned around, only for him to let out a startled scream. Hannah jumped in front of him, but David kept backing away.

"Dean, it didn't work," Sam hissed into the phone.

"Then it can't be Roy controlling it," Hannah realized, widening her eyes. Sam repeated her words to Dean on the phone. "David, where is it now?"

She gasped when she saw David being brought to his knees as he was choked by an invisible force. Hannah stared, horrified. She felt so hopeless. What could she do?

Then suddenly David was released from his hold, collapsing on the ground and gasping for air. Hannah exchanged a surprised look with Sam before rushing over to David. They took either side of him and helped him to his feet.

"I got you. I got you," murmured Sam.

"Thank God," breathed David.

* * *

The drive returning to the motel was spent in tense silence. Hannah bounced her knee nervously, still overwhelmed by what happened earlier. She bit her lip as she looked at Dean. He had been brooding again, and Hannah could tell he felt guilty. She didn't say anything, though, knowing he would only get annoyed and push her away.

Hannah was shocked when Dean revealed that it was Sue Ann, the reverend's _wife_, who was summoning the reaper and not Roy himself. She had seemed so saintly when Hannah met her. Hannah wished she weren't so naive. Not everyone was as great as she believed them to be.

"So, Roy really believes," Sam said after a moment. He was sitting down on the edge of his bed next to Hannah.

"I don't think he has any idea what his wife's doing," Dean replied, looking out the window.

"Well, we found this." Hannah handed Dean the small black book. He sat down on the edge of the other bed.

"It's ancient. Written by a priest who went dark side. There's a binding spell in here for trapping a reaper," Sam explained, watching Dean skim the pages.

"Must be a hell of a spell," Dean commented, his eyes arrested by one of the pages.

"Yeah. You got to build a black altar with seriously dark stuff—bones, human blood..." Sam trailed off, his eyebrows furrowing in thought.

"To cross a line like _that_. I mean, a _preacher's _wife," Hannah murmured, shuddering. "To use black magic, to murder. It's evil, it's..."

"Desperate," Dean supplied, looking up from the book. He met her eyes for a moment before looking at his brother. "Her husband was dying, she didn't have anything to save him. She was using the binding spell to keep the reaper away from Roy."

"Cheating death, literally," Sam scoffed, shaking his head in disgust.

"Yeah, but Roy's alive, so why is she still using the spell?" Hannah wondered.

She could understand why someone would do _anything_ to save their loved one, but Hannah didn't think she could bind a reaper or God forbid make a deal with a crossroad demon just to bring them back. Then again, Hannah hadn't loved someone enough to be in that kind of situation.

"Right. To force the reaper to kill people she thinks are immoral," Sam realized, and Dean nodded.

"May God save us from half the people who think they're doing God's work," Dean muttered, leaning back.

"Guys, we _got _to break that binding spell," Sam said resolutely.

"You know, Sue Ann had a Coptic cross like this. When she dropped it, the reaper backed off," Dean remarked. Hannah got off the bed and went over to sit beside Dean, peering at the picture he was talking about.

"You know, the Coptic cross was adopted by early Christian Egyptians. I mean, you can tell since the cross resembles the Egyptian symbol ankh which is the symbol for eternal life—" Hannah stopped abruptly, blushing. "Sorry. I was babbling."

"Nah, don't be sorry," he said lightly, then after a minute, added, "Teach."

"Shut up." She shoved him by his shoulder.

"Actually, what you said explains how the Coptic cross is able to bind the reaper," Sam commented thoughtfully. "Reapers control life and death, and like Hannah said, the Coptic cross was influenced by the ankh symbol which means, like you said, eternal life."

"Okay, you _nerds_," Dean cut in, standing to his feet. He ignored the glares Hannah and Sam shot him. "Sam, you mentioned an altar? You and Hannah destroy it."

"What about the cross?" Hannah asked.

"Destroy that too." He glanced at her and Sam. "Whatever we do we better do it soon, or he's healing Layla tonight."

There was a reluctant look on his face, but it subsided quickly. Hannah bit her lip, but said nothing, and instead got up to follow him. She heard Sam lumber behind them.

When they arrived to the church, Hannah spied Layla's car in the parking lot. She frowned, hoping Roy hadn't started his service yet. She felt bad for Layla, but it just wasn't _right _the way Roy healed others.

"That's Layla's car," Sam said, pointing to it. "She's already here."

"Yeah," Dean muttered, staring morosely at the tent.

"Dean..." Sam sighed, frowning.

"You know, if Roy would have picked Layla instead of me, she'd be here right now. And if she's not healed tonight she's going to die in a couple of months," Dean said, looking at his brother.

Sam's frown deepened. "What's happening to her is horrible, but... what are you going to do? Let somebody else die to save her? You said it yourself, Dean, you can't play God."

Dean said nothing and after a moment, he opened the driver's door and stepped out. Hannah and Sam followed. They approached the tent, but Hannah reached out to grasp Dean's forearm, stopping him from further walking. He gave her a questioning look, but didn't move.

"Sue Ann is probably targeting you when Roy heals Layla," she murmured, looking at the ground.

"I know," Dean said quietly. Hannah looked up when she felt his fingers brush against her cheek, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "We'll stop her, alright?"

"Just be careful," Hannah told him softly.

He gazed about her then nodded. Sam jogged back over to them and informed them about Layla and the small retinue inside the church, but no Sue Ann. He suggested they check out the house, and the three of them headed that way.

"You guys go find Sue Ann. I'll catch up," Dean suddenly said. He pushed them both towards the back of the house.

"What are you going to...?" Sam started to ask, but trailed off when Dean presented himself in front of the two police officers descending the stairs from the front of the house.

"_Hey!_" Dean exclaimed, gaining their attention. "You gonna put the fear of God in me?"

Hannah rolled her eyes at him. She hid, though, when Dean started running the way they came with the cops chasing after him. Straightening, Hannah and Sam moved to the porch of house. There were no lights on inside the house, but then Sam touched her arm and gestured to the crack of light emerging from the basement entrance.

Slowly, Sam opened the basement doors and slipped inside, Hannah following after him. They were met with lit candles lining the walls as they walked deeper into the basement. She widened her eyes when she caught sight of Sue Ann's altar and its horrors.

"Look," Sam whispered, nudging Hannah. She took her eyes off the animal horns and nearly gasped at the picture in his hand. The photo of Dean didn't surprise her; what surprised her was that his face was crossed out with _blood_.

"I gave your brother life and I can take it away," spoke a familiar voice.

Hannah whirled and immediately glared at the woman. Sue Ann stiffened from their looks, but did not move. Without warning, Sam grabbed the edge of the table and knocked it over. Hannah ran towards Sue Ann, but the woman was faster and climbed out of the basement, slamming the doors shut.

"She locked us in here!" Hannah shouted at Sam, pushing at the doors, but with no luck.

"_What?_" Sam exclaimed. He went over to her and grunted as he tried to open the doors.

"Sam, Hannah, can't you two see? The Lord chose me to reward the just and punish the wicked. And your brother is _wicked_ and he deserves to die just as Layla deserves to _live_," Sue Ann stressed from outside.

_She really thinks she's helping people_, Hannah thought, disturbed.

"_You're _the one who's wicked, Sue Ann!" Hannah shouted, hitting the door with her fist.

"Goodbye," Sue Ann responded.

She hit the door one last time before turning back around, scowling. Her scowl lessened when she noticed Sam smashing open a sealed window. When he finally got an opening, Hannah cheered.

"Come on," Sam hissed, gesturing at her.

"Oh, sorry." Hannah was boosted up and out of the window by Sam. She crawled out then jumped to her feet. Sam took a minute to crawl out and accepted the outstretched hand Hannah offered him.

They searched the parking lot only briefly before they found Sue Ann reciting her reaper binding spell. Sam strode over to her and spun her around, startling her. He snatched the cross from her hands and flung it the ground, smashing it. Sue Ann gasped sharply and fell to her knees besides the blood on the ground.

"My God, what have you done?" she demanded.

Sue Ann gasped again and rose to her feet, watching something. _The reaper_, Hannah realized. There was a wave of chills over her skin as Sue Ann struggled to breathe. She turned away, hiding her face in Sam's shoulder. Sam wrapped his arms around her, but even his warmth couldn't drown out the strangled sounds Sue Ann made as she died.

"Is it over?" Hannah asked, when the sounds finally faded.

"Yeah, she's…" Sam didn't need to finish his sentence. "Come on. Let's find Dean."

It didn't take them too long to find him. He was limping his way across the parking lot. Hannah nearly knocked him over when she threw her arms around his neck and embraced him. Dean stumbled back, his body stiff. She closed her eyes and hid her face in his shoulder, dampening his jacket with her tears. Hannah squeezed him tighter when she felt hesitant arms go around her, holding her.

He was okay. Dean was _okay_.

After a minute, they pulled away from each other. Hannah was tempted to hug him again, but she knew he wouldn't tolerate another one. Or at least, his manly pride wouldn't.

"I'm just happy you're okay," Hannah explained, wiping away her tears. She laughed and hit his shoulder lightly. "Didn't I tell you you'd be okay?"

"You did," Dean admitted, laughing a little. "I think you came closer to killing me than the reaper, Princess."

"Don't even joke!" Hannah exclaimed, punching his shoulder. He winced from the force of it. "Come on, Dean-o. Let's get out of here."

Dean grumbled about the nickname, but nevertheless, limped alongside her back to the Impala where Sam waited for them. Hannah sighed in relief, glad this ordeal was over.

* * *

Most of the morning was spent packing. Hannah finished last since she had a habit of folding her clothes to perfection and that often took longer than normal folding of clothes. She managed to take the keys to the Impala without Dean noticing and head to the grocery store.

After the relief of knowing that Dean was alive had abated, Hannah began thinking about Layla. She seemed like the type of girl Hannah would have befriended. Layla did not deserve to die because of a brain tumor. Hannah felt so bad for Layla that she bought her three cakes, a handful of motivational cards, and a scented candle. She didn't know _why _she bought a scented candle, but Hannah found candles relaxing when they weren't being put to casting demonic spells.

By the time Hannah came back, Layla was leaving the motel. Hannah vaguely recalled Sam making a phone call.

"Layla, hi!" Hannah called.

"Oh, hey, Hannah," Layla greeted, smiling politely. She looked close to crying, and Hannah wondered if Dean said something to hurt her feelings. "Went shopping?"

"These are actually for you," Hannah replied sheepishly.

"Me?" Layla repeated, surprised.

"Yeah. I, um, got you three cakes—"

"Three? Wow."

"—I wasn't sure if you were allergic to chocolate or vanilla, so I got both! And I got some red velvet because who doesn't like red velvet? I also bought some cards, and a scented candle."

Layla stared at her. "I..." she dabbed her eyes with the sleeve of her denim jacket. "This is really kind of you, Hannah. Thank you."

Hannah shrugged, smiling. "I'm sorry about what I said to your mom," she blurted out after handing Layla the grocery bags. "And I hope you get better."

"Thank you," Layla murmured, smiling and even hugging Hannah before heading back to her car.

Watching her go, Hannah sighed and wandered back to her motel room. She found Sam standing in the room while Dean was looking around frantically for something.

"I saw Layla outside," Hannah announced, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I'm guessing she came to see you?"

"Sam called her," Dean said, distracted. "Where the fuck are my keys?"

"Where did you go, Hannah?" Sam asked her.

Hannah said nothing, and instead smiled widely. She moved over to Dean and when he wasn't looking, she slipped his car keys in the pocket of his jacket.

"Have you checked your pockets?" Hannah asked, slowly stepping backwards.

Dean frowned, checking his jeans then his jacket. He grinned when he pulled out his car keys. He hefted up his duffel bag and gestured for her and Sam to follow him out. Sam shot her a knowing look yet he playfully bumped her on his way out. Hannah glanced back at the motel room, wondering what Layla and Dean talked about, then brushed off those thoughts.

Layla seemed at peace with her condition and Dean was alive. That's all that mattered to Hannah.


	13. Route 666

**Author's Note: **Huge thanks to everyone for following and favoriting! Special thanks to _grapejuice101_, _hannahroll816, nosserate, The Blue Monster Cake, JenRiley16_, _Evangeline Carter_, and two guests for the reviews. Also, it snows in this episode, but in real life, Ohio is not that cold in May, so let's pretend it doesn't snow. Anyways, please enjoy and review this chapter!

**13.**

**Route 666**

"I'm not paying for all this," Dean said the moment Hannah dumped all her snacks down on the counter of the cash register.

"Please?" Hannah gave him a pleading look.

"No," he said again. "And you can stop looking at me like that."

Hannah didn't, and he tilted his head back groaning.

"_Fine_," he relented, pulling out his wallet. "But you owe me, Princess."

"I'm not your princess," Hannah replied cheerfully. She bumped his shoulder with her own, and he bumped her back, rolling his eyes.

The man behind the counter glanced up at them then shook his head, chuckling. "You've got yourself a cute girlfriend, man."

"She's not my girlfriend," Dean hastily said the same time Hannah sputtered out, "I'm not his girlfriend."

"Whatever." The man didn't seem to care and gestured to the gas tank outside. Hannah collected their plastic bag, but paused when she heard Dean's phone ring.

"Is it your dad?" she asked after he flipped it open.

He shook his head and walked passed her and out of the gas station. Hannah thanked the man behind the counter and followed Dean. She went over to the car and placed the plastic bag in the backseat. Sam was leaning over the hood of the Impala, reading a map. Some complication arose on their way to Pennsylvania, so he was trying to figure out a solution at their stop.

She offered him a cold bottled water, and he accepted it. Hannah peered at the map as she tore open the packet of chocolate chip cookies. Absently, Sam reached for a cookie as he studied the map.

"Figure out something?" Hannah inquired.

"Yeah, I think so." Sam reached for another cookie, but Hannah pulled the bag out of his reach. "You know who Dean's on the phone with?"

"No," Hannah answered, munching on a cookie.

"Okay. I think I found a way we can bypass that construction just east of here," Sam announced, still reaching for a cookie. Hannah relented and watched him take another. "We might even make Pennsylvania faster than we thought."

"Yeah." Hannah furrowed her brows at Dean. He snapped his phone shut and walked back to them. "Problem is, we're not going to Pennsylvania."

Dean sounded far away, and it only made her more curious about whom he was speaking to on the phone.

"Why not?" Hannah asked, frowning when she noticed there were no more cookies left.

"I just got a call from an, uh, _old friend_," he told them. "Her father was killed last night, and she thinks it might be our kind of thing."

She tilted her head, frowning. "I thought you didn't have any friends..."

He shot her an annoyed look, but looked up when Sam said, "What?" in a confused voice.

"Yeah. Believe me, she _never_ would've called if she didn't need us," Dean explained, slipping inside the driver's seat. He scowled at the them. "Are you guys coming or not?"

Hannah exchanged a bewildered glance with Sam, before climbing into the backseat.

The first hour of their drive was spent with Dean explaining his phone call. The person—the _old friend_—was a girl named Cassie Robinson. Her father's death apparently seemed strange enough to rule in something supernatural. When Dean finished, there was a pregnant pause in the car, one that Hannah would call awkward.

Hannah knew for a fact that Dean didn't have many friends, much less female friends. She wondered just how long they've known each other. Were they close? Why hadn't he ever mentioned her? Wouldn't he have brought her up to prove that he had friends other than Hannah?

"By _old friend_ you mean... ?" Sam started to ask.

"A friend that's not new," Dean replied. He smirked when Hannah slapped his arm.

"Oh yeah, thanks," Sam snorted.

"So her name's Cassie, huh?" Hannah said conversationally. "You never mentioned her."

"Didn't I?" Dean asked, then avoided her hand that reached over to slap his arm again.

"No, you never mentioned this _friend_ before," Hannah said, still leaning forward. She and Sam waited expectantly, knowing Dean would have to tell them more about this _old friend_.

After a long pause, Dean huffed, "Yeah, we went out."

"...Huh?"

"Wait, you mean you _dated _somebody? For more than _one night_?"

"Am I speaking a language you guys aren't getting?" Dean questioned, glaring at the road. His shoulders were tense yet he spoke with nonchalance. "Dad and I were working a job in Athens, Ohio. She was finishing up college. We went out for a couple of weeks."

It felt like slap after slap the more Dean told them. Dean _dated _somebody? Not just sleep with them for one night and leave, but actually stay? And hadn't _told _them about her? She must have been special if Dean agreed to be her boyfriend.

"Look, it's terrible about her dad, but it kind of sounds like a standard car accident. I'm not seeing how it fits with what we do," Sam replied. Hannah saw him frown from the rear view mirror. "Which by the way, how does she know what we do?"

Dean said nothing.

Hannah's jaw slackened, while Sam stared at his brother in disbelief.

"You told her?" Sam demanded, incredulous. "You _told_ her the secret? Our big family rule number one: we do what we do and we shut up about it. For a year and a half, I do nothing but _lie_ to Jessica, and you go out with this chick in Ohio a couple of times and you tell her _everything_? Are you fucking kidding me?"

She loosened her grip on the bottom of her seat, alarmed by how heated Sam was over this. Hannah could understand his frustration. They were raised not to bring up what they do—ever. Hannah would never tell her ex boyfriends about her hunts. Not even when she came back from the hospital after the vampire job did she tell Ryan, who kept asking why she looked so pale and weak.

"_Dean!"_ Sam hissed, after Dean refused to respond.

"Yeah, looks like," Dean snapped.

Sam scoffed, and leaned back, shaking his head. Hannah tried to meet Dean's eyes in the rear view mirror, but he kept his gaze on the road. She leaned back and slumped down in her seat. This was going to be a tense job, Hannah could already tell.

* * *

Hannah wished they were back in Kentucky.

The three of them entered the building and Hannah glanced around, surprised to see how busy it was. Then a girl turned around, and she was beautiful—not that Dean would ever settle for someone who didn't look as good as him. Brown skin, long dark brown hair falling in soft curls, and dark eyes that went soft and longing the moment she laid them on Dean.

"Dean," she breathed, barely audible over the noise.

"Hey, Cassie," Dean greeted her in a way that reminded Hannah of Steve McQueen. She shifted on her feet, uncomfortable with the lingering stares between him and Cassie. Dean cleared his throat and gestured to her and Sam. "This is my brother, Sam, and our friend, Hannah."

She and Sam offered Cassie smiles which she returned, though it didn't reach her eyes. There was a twist in Hannah's gut the minute Cassie returned her gaze to Dean. She hated the way Cassie was looking at him, and she wondered if Dean was looking at her the same way. _Why do I even care? _Hannah thought, annoyed.

"Sorry about your dad," Dean said, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, me too." Cassie glanced down at her feet then looked back up. "Um, now's not really a good time to talk. Think you guys can come over my place tonight?"

Dean nodded, still King of Cool, and took the paper Cassie gave him with her address. Hannah led the way out of the building. As they drove to a cheap motel, her mind drifted to Cassie. She wasn't sure whether she liked Cassie yet. She still didn't actually know the girl, and besides, her dad recently died. Could you really get to know someone who was still in that much pain? Not that it even mattered to her who Dean dated, or that it mattered to _him _what Hannah thought of his girlfriend. _Ex-girlfriend_, she corrected herself. The two were broken up, but there was still something lingering between them.

It bummed her out, too. Dean tried to pretend his relationship with Cassie hadn't been such a big deal, but it was. He obviously still felt _something _for her if he was going to drop everything just to help her. Hannah would know. She did the exact same thing.

"So... that's the girl who stole your heart, huh?" Sam remarked, once they were inside their motel room.

"She's pretty," Hannah added. She brushed past Dean, who grunted as he pulled off his leather jacket and tossed it on his bed. She stood before the mirror and looked at her hair. It got longer, nearly covering her breasts now. She was nineteen the last time it was this long. Hannah could use a haircut.

"Can I borrow the car?" Hannah asked Dean.

"Why?" Dean asked, sounding tired.

"I need a haircut," she explained, then gently pushed at his shoulder. "Please? It won't even take that long."

"I'm not worried about the amount of time it'll take you at the beauty salon," Dean replied, tilting his head at her.

She thought for a moment then pushed his shoulder harder. "Are you still mad about me—?"

"Yes, I'm still mad about you crashing _my _Baby."

"I was trying to save our lives!"

"You didn't have to involve my Baby!"

"You're such a freak when it comes to that car!"

"_I'll _drive her if you're so worried about your precious Impala," decided Sam, rising from his bed.

"But I'm not a bad driver!" Hannah insisted. "Remember when you let me drive the Impala in Indiana? I didn't crash into anything then!"

"No," Dean said. There was an edge to his voice, but Hannah wouldn't give up so easily. She leaped on his bed and dug into the pockets of his jacket for his keys. Before she could make it to the door, Dean blocked her. "Don't."

"What is your _problem?" _Hannah demanded. "It's just a car, Dean. Don't you trust me?"

He stared at her, his scowl slowly fading. Dean closed his eyes, sighing heavily, before opening them. "That _almost _worked, Princess," he said, and her eyes widened. "I tell you all the time. Those big blues won't work on me."

Hannah couldn't believe this. She looked at Sam, hoping he could make sense of this, but he just shrugged.

Dean went over to grab his jacket. He was opening the door when he turned to look at her. "Well, come on."

"You're awful," Hannah said, but followed him anyway.

* * *

"Your hair doesn't look that different," Sam told her, when they reached Cassie's house.

"My hair was covering my boobs. It needed to be cut," Hannah explained. The hairdresser had chopped her hair up to her shoulders. Dean had waited in the car listening to Survivor, and Hannah had caught him in the middle of a drum solo.

"You had long hair before, right?" Sam asked, stepping out of the car.

"Um, yeah, for most of my life," Hannah answered, adjusting her jacket. "I cut it in college, though." She tilted her head and reached up to grasp a lock of Sam's hair. "Yours is getting long too. Growing it out?"

Sam laughed. "Yeah, maybe."

Hannah paused at the door, widening her eyes at Dean. "Are you... are you wearing _cologne_?"

Dean looked abashed, but didn't answer, and instead knocked on the door. Sam nudged Hannah, smirking at his brother' lack of a response. Hannah didn't find it as funny. This proved that Dean still had feelings for Cassie. He was actually putting an effort in his appearance for her.

_Not that he needs much effort_, Hannah thought, for once allowing herself to let her gaze linger on Dean's face. Dean was a good looking man, but the worse kind of good looking. He was one of those guys who _knew _they were that attractive and it didn't help that he could charm a girl easily into his bed.

Cassie opened the door and stepped aside to let them in. She led them to the living room while she went to make some tea for them. It was a bit crowded on the couch, but Hannah was used to it.

"My mother's in pretty bad shape," Cassie told them as she brought out a tray of tea. "I've been staying with her. I wish she wouldn't go off by herself. She's been so nervous and frightened. She was worried about Dad."

"Why?" Dean questioned, studying her.

"He was scared," Cassie answered, pouring them their tea. "He was seeing things."

"Like what?" Dean asked, his gaze focused only on her.

"He swore he saw an awful looking black truck following him," Cassie replied, still fiddling with the tea.

"Well, who was the driver?" Hannah inquired, curious.

"He didn't talk about a driver. Just the truck. He said it would appear and disappear," Cassie explained, handing them their cups of tea one at a time. "And in the accident, Dad's car was dented, like it had been slammed into by something big."

Sam thanked her as he accepted his cup last. "Now you're sure this dent wasn't there before?"

Dean made a face and quickly deposited his cup of tea on the side table when Cassie wasn't looking. Hannah bit her lip, suppressing her smile. He hated tea, and it always amused Hannah how awkward he acted whenever someone offered him some.

"He sold cars. Always drove a new one. There wasn't a _scratch_ on that thing. It had rained hard that night. There was mud everywhere. There was a distinct set of muddy tracks leading from dad's car... leading right to the edge, where he went over." Cassie's voice broke, and Hannah felt a pang of sympathy for her. She looked back up at them. "_One_ set of tracks! His."

"The first was a friend of your fathers?" Hannah asked gently, after Cassie composed herself.

"_Best _friend," Cassie corrected, nodding. "Clayton Soames. They owned the car dealership together. Same thing. Dent. No Tracks. And the cops said exactly what they said about dad. He 'lost control of his car.'"

"Can you think of any reason why your father and his partner might be targets?" Hannah questioned, hesitant. She didn't want to offend her.

Cassie didn't seem to take offense. "No," she replied, shaking her head.

"And you think this vanishing truck ran them off the road?" Hannah shot Sam a look from the incredulous tone in his voice.

"When you say it aloud like _that_..." Cassie rolled her dark eyes. "Listen, I'm a little skeptical about this... this _ghost stuff _or _whatever _you guys are into."

_We aren't into anything_, Hannah wanted to say, but held her tongue. Did she seriously think that this hunting thing was a hobby?

"Skeptical?" Dean repeated, scoffing. "If I remember, you said I was nuts."

"That was then," Cassie murmured, meeting his eyes. "I just know that I can't explain what happened up there. So I called you."

Thankfully, the sound of the door opening interrupted another nauseating moment between them. She and the boys rose to their feet, watching as Cassie rushed over to her mother, a pale, blue-eyed woman with pale red hair. Mrs. Robinson looked startled to see them in her living room.

"I had no idea you'd invited friends over," she said.

"Mom, this is Dean, a friend of mine from..." Cassie struggled to think of something. "College. And his brother, Sam, and their friend, Hannah."

"Well, I won't interrupt." She seemed flustered.

"Mrs. Robinson, we're really sorry for your loss," Hannah blurted out.

"We'd like to talk to you for a minute, if you don't mind?" Dean asked as politely as he could.

The woman looked almost affronted. "I'm really not up for that right now."

Sam quickly apologized and the three of them left afterwards, promising Cassie they'd look into it. Well, it was more _Dean _who promised Cassie. Sam didn't seem too convinced that this death had any supernatural elements to it. Hannah felt sick to her stomach. Dean truly liked her. He _still _liked her. Maybe even loved her. That hurt. It hurt so much. Hannah's heart felt constricted, unable to beat properly to a normal rhythm. Her throat was tight and she wanted to just cry in a corner somewhere alone.

When they reached their motel, Sam went to shower first. Hannah would have protested, but she was afraid a sob might escape. She busied herself with retrieving her pajamas out of her duffel bag.

"What do you think?" Dean asked, and of course he would speak to her when she just wanted to be left alone.

"I think there's a possibility that we're dealing with something weird," Hannah remarked, relieved that there was no tremble in her voice. "Though I've never heard of a killer truck."

"I meant Cassie," he said. He sounded embarrassed.

"What about Cassie?" Hannah inquired, afraid of what he was asking.

"What do you think of her?" he explained. His question caught her off guard, and she felt more uncomfortable than she did when she had to watch Dean and Cassie stare at each other.

Hannah couldn't look up from her duffel bag. "Why do you care what I think of her?"

"I don't know," Dean admitted. His voice became defensive when he continued, "I just thought since you're my friend, you'd care. You know, since you're always going on about us being _friends_."

He couldn't have known how she felt, but everything he said sounded so cruel. Hannah gripped the handle to her duffel bag, struggling not to break down then. "Sam's your brother. He cares too."

"But I'm asking _you_."

"I don't think anything, okay?" Hannah replied sharply, snapping her head up at him. "I barely know her. I've just met her today. What do you want me to say?"

"What the fuck is your problem?" Dean demanded.

"I don't have a problem," Hannah answered loftily.

"Sounds like you do," he grumbled, turning away from her. "Whatever."

The next ten minutes was spent in bitter silence. She wanted to apologize, but couldn't find the courage to do so. When Sam stepped out of the bathroom, she asked Dean if he wanted to go first, but all she got from him was a glare.

_Great. Now Dean's mad at me_, Hannah thought miserably.

This was all Cassie's fault.

* * *

She was spritzing on perfume when Dean received a call from Cassie. He explained that there was another death and they needed to check out the scene. He hadn't looked at Hannah when he told them this. This was the first time Dean had ever truly been upset with her. Guilt gnawed at her, because Hannah knew it was entirely her fault why he was angry with her.

Sam noticed, and brought it up on the way to the scene.

"Are you guys okay? You both look..." Sam trailed off, glancing between Dean and Hannah.

"I'm peachy," Dean groused.

"A-ok," Hannah replied, trying to sound upbeat.

"Hmm." Sam sounded unconvinced, but said nothing else about it.

They found Cassie arguing with an older man. "Close the main road. The only road in and out of town?" Hannah heard the man say as they approached them. "Accidents _do_ happen, Cassie, and that's what they are. Accidents."

"Did the cops check for additional denting on Jimmy's car, see if it was pushed?" Dean asked, standing staunchly beside Cassie.

The man glanced at the three of them, and squint his eyes warily. "Who's this?"

"Dean and Sam Winchester. Hannah Singer," Sam answered for her.

"They're family friends," Cassie explained, then gestured to the man. "This is Mayor Harold Todd."

"There's one set of tire tracks. _One_," answered Mayor Todd. "Doesn't point to foul play."

"Mayor, the police and town officials take their cues from you. If you're indifferent about—" Cassie started vehemently.

"_Indifferent_!_"_ Mayor Todd repeated, outraged.

"Would you close the road if the victims were white?" she accused.

The girl was bold, something Hannah was not. It made her wonder if Dean liked that in his girlfriends.

"You suggesting I'm racist, Cassie?" the mayor asked evenly. "I'm the last person you should talk to like that."

"And why's that?" Cassie questioned, scathing.

"Why don't you ask your mother," he suggested, and without another word, left them in the field.

So her mother _did _know something. Hannah made a mental note to remind the boys that they definitely needed to question Mrs. Robinson later. She tuned out whatever Cassie was telling Dean, and only offered a goodbye when she noticed the boys heading back to the car.

Sam explained to her that they needed to rent some suits before they posed as insurance agents. Hannah refrained from sighing, knowing _she _would have to dress them. The boys were hopeless when it came to picking out formal clothes.

When Hannah voiced this, Dean rolled his eyes and replied, "No one's forcing you to do this."

"You guys look less believable in those monkey suits than you do in the ones I pick out for you," Hannah retorted. "And please acknowledge how good you both look in the ones I pick compared to the ones _you _guys choose."

Neither of them said anything after that.

They spent about an hour picking out which suits to rent before returning to their motel. As for the boys, they had no complaints about the suits Hannah chose for them.

"Why do you always pick blue for me?" Dean asked her, once they were back inside the motel.

"Because you look good in blue," Hannah answered as she entered the bathroom. She quickly changed into a black belted green shirtdress with ruffles and sleeves reaching her elbows. When she stepped out of the bathroom, she noticed Dean looking increasingly annoyed with whatever Sam was saying.

"What's going on?" she asked, slipping on her black stilettos.

"Just mentioning my observations to Dean here," Sam replied, grinning. "You noticed how Dean looks at Cassie when she isn't looking, and vice versa?"

"Unfortunately," Hannah muttered, adjusting her heels.

"What?" Dean hissed.

"I said I have," Hannah said loudly, slipping on her grey coat. "Oh, Sam, have you mentioned how they can't stop staring at each other?"

"You think we might have more pressing issues here?" Dean snapped, turning to glare at the them.

"Hey, if we're hitting a nerve..." Sam snickered, and Hannah wished she could laugh with him instead of feeling so hurt.

"Let's go," he huffed, turning to leave the room.

Sam snickered and followed him out, closing the door behind Hannah. Dean drove them to the docks, and led them down a pier where some men were fishing in search of Ron Stubbins. They found him sitting with another man on some crates and eating their lunch.

"Hello, boys," Hannah greeted them, smiling. "Which one of you gentlemen would be Ron Stubbins?"

The white man confirmed this with a nod.

"You were friends with Jimmy Anderson?" Dean asked less warmly.

"Who are you?" he asked warily.

"We're Mr. Anderson's insurance company. We're just here to dot 'I's' and cross 'T's,'" answered Dean.

"And this insurance company needed to send _three_ people?" Stubbins asked, eyeing them.

"Well, you know the saying. The more the merrier," Hannah replied. Her smile faltered when the distrust hadn't faded from Stubbins' face.

"We were just wondering, had the deceased mentioned any unusual recent experiences?" Sam inquired.

"What do you mean _unusual_?" Stubbins asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Visions, hallucinations," Sam listed mechanically.

"It's part of a medical examination kind of thing," Hannah added, after noticing the raised eyebrows from both men. "It's all very standard."

A beat passed before Stubbins questioned, "What company did you say you were with?"

"All National Mutual," Dean answered easily. He pulled out a rumpled piece of paper Sam managed to fake. "Tell me, did he ever mention seeing a truck? A big black truck?"

"What the hell you talking about? You even speaking English?" demanded Stubbins.

_Abort. Retreat. We have to leave_, Hannah thought, freaking out. They were caught. The guy barely bought their insurance agents story. She was going to prison for fraud. Their lives were over—

"Son, this truck," started the black man, "a big, scary monster looking thing?"

"Yeah actually, I think so."

"Hmm."

"What?" Dean asked, interested.

"I have heard of a truck like that," the man admitted.

"You have?" Sam shared a surprised glance with Hannah. "Where?"

"Not where. When," he corrected. "Back in the sixties, there was a string of deaths. Black men. Story goes, they disappeared in a big, nasty, black truck."

"Did they catch the guy who did it?" Dean questioned.

"Never found him. Hell, not sure they even really looked." Stubbins stiffened besides his friend when he continued, "See there was a time, this town wasn't too friendly to all its citizens."

"Thank you." Hannah led them out of the docks and back to the car. "So, this truck... it keeps coming up."

"You know, I was thinking. You guys heard of the Flying Dutchman?" Dean asked, looking at them both.

"Yeah, a ghost ship, infused with the Captain's evil spirit. It was basically part of him," Sam answered.

"So, what if we're dealing with the same thing?" Dean suggested.

Hannah nodded, leaning against the car. "That's actually believable. A phantom truck that's an extension of a ghost, you know, re-enacting past crimes."

"The victims have all been black men," Sam pointed out.

"I think it's more than that. They all seem connected to Cassie and her family," Dean murmured.

"And the mayor _did _mention Cassie's mom," Hannah added.

"Oh, and you might also want to mention that _other_ thing," Sam said to his brother, smiling.

"What other thing?" Dean asked lowly.

"The serious, unfinished business?" Sam said.

Dean clenched his jaw, refusing to speak.

Sam let out a small laugh. "Dean, what is going _on_ between you two?"

He hesitated, glancing in Hannah's direction. _He's still mad_, she thought, remembering their conversation from last night.

"Alright, so maybe we were a little bit _more_ involved than I said," Dean confessed. From the disbelieving look on Sam's face, he admitted, "Okay, _a lot_ more. Maybe. And I told her our secret, about what we do. And I shouldn't have."

"Ah, look man, everybody's got to open up to someone sometime," Sam said, shrugging.

"Yeah. _I don't_," Dean hissed, gesturing to himself. "It was stupid to get that close. I mean, look how it ended."

"But it must have been nice," Hannah spoke up, startling him. "You know, being with someone for that long and feeling like you could trust them with something like that."

She found herself meeting his eyes, no longer hard and guarded.

"Did you love her?" Sam asked, his question breaking their gaze.

"Oh God," Dean groaned, turning to the driver's seat.

"You were in love with her, but you _dumped_ her," Sam said incredulously. Dean stared at the ground, silent, and Hannah widened her eyes. "Oh, _wow_. _She _dumped _you_."

Hannah's gut twisted as bile rose in her throat. She knew it was wrong to feel upset that Sam was just being supportive of his brother, but she couldn't help it. Hannah supposed she could say something, but then that would only complicate things. How could he _love _her when she rejected him? He didn't even know her for that long. He _couldn't _have loved her.

Oh God, she wanted to vomit.

* * *

Hannah and Sam were deciding what to eat for dinner when Dean announced he was heading to Cassie's house. It was the first time since they found out it was _Cassie_ who broke things off that Dean had spoken to them. She couldn't imagine Dean getting his heart broken. _Dean_, the man who could commit for only one night. Mr. Hit it and Quit it. It was almost unbelievable. It _did _give Hannah hope. If he could settle down with Cassie, then maybe…

"Huh?" Hannah realized she had been ignoring Sam for the past two minutes.

"Pizza or Chinese takeout?" Sam asked, holding up his phone.

"Oh, um, pizza," she decided, settling deeper into the bed.

It was silent, save for Sam ordering a large box of pepperoni pizza. When he snapped his phone shut, he made his way over to Hannah and sat down on the edge of the bed. He touched her calf, squeezing it a little.

"What's going on between you and Dean?" he asked, concerned.

"Nothing's going on," Hannah replied, bringing her arm up so she could rest her chin on the palm of her hand.

"Oh really?" Sam shot her an unconvinced look. "What about last night?"

Hannah realized they could do this all night, go back and forth between questions and lame answers. Sam was persistent that way, a trait she was starting to find annoying. She sighed and slowly sat up.

"He asked me what I thought of Cassie," Hannah told him.

"And you said...?"

"I didn't say anything. I asked him why he didn't just ask you this since you're his brother and you care more about his relationship than I do."

"Well, of course I care," Sam snorted. He fell back on the bed, crossing his arms behind his head. "You know Dean. He's not exactly Mr. Monogamy, so hearing that he told a girl what he does for a living, let alone _date _her is kind of huge."

"And that's exactly why I... why we were distant today," Hannah said, tucking a wavy lock of hair behind her ear.

Sam widened his eyes. "You aren't _jealous, _are you?"

Her jaw slackened and she shook her head vigorously. "_No!_ It's not that, it's just..." She started to fidget with her hands. "I wished he told me about... _her_. I mean, normally this wouldn't be such a big deal for a guy of Dean's age, but this is _Dean_ we're talking about and he didn't even tell us about her."

"Oh." Sam nodded, taking in her words. "So, you're not jealous, you're just... disappointed."

"Yeah. Exactly." Hannah looked up from her fidgeting hands. "We're supposed to be friends. I mean, he _really _loves her. He dropped everything just to help her, and he didn't tell us about her."

"Dean likes to keep things to himself," Sam said, turning his head to her. "He has this habit of shouldering his and everyone's problems. And since we found out that Cassie dumped _him_, I'm guessing he didn't want to burden anyone with his problems."

That sounded _exactly _like Dean, and it bothered Hannah that she never considered that. She felt so selfish. It wasn't any of her business and she realized now that she owed Dean an apology. Still, Hannah had her doubts about Cassie being fit as Dean's girlfriend. Dean often put on a different persona when around girls, and civvies in general. Hannah could only wonder how long it took for him to show Cassie his true self, or even if he did at all.

_Dean showed her his true self the moment he spilled the hunter's secret_, Hannah thought.

"Our boy is all grown up," she said, pretending to weep.

Sam smiled. He tapped her leg after a moment of silence. "It's fine if you are jealous, Han."

"I'm not jealous," Hannah insisted, kicking him. "Think any good movies are on right now?"

If he noticed she was changing the subject, Sam didn't remark on it.

* * *

Dean was nervous.

Not because he was in love with Cassie—which he wasn't—but because he was going to be _alone_ with her. Sam and Hannah kept it from getting too awkward between them, kept the conversation from drifting to their breakup, and now Sam was urging him to talk to her.

He wasn't in love with Cassie. Sure, he definitely cared for her, might have even _loved_ with her if Dad had decided to stick around longer, but... all Dean could say was he felt something more than a crush and something less than the big L for her. He had been young, stupid, and full of lust now that Dean thought about it. Why else would he tell fearless Cassie about the supernatural?

He stood up straighter when the door opened, greeting Cassie with a cool smile.

"Hey, come on in." She stepped aside to let him enter.

"So, are you busy or...?" Dean trailed off, unsure if he had interrupted whatever she had been doing.

"The paper's doing a tribute to Jimmy," she explained, shutting the door behind her. "I was just going through his stuff, his awards... Trying to find the words."

"That's got to be tough," Dean commented, then winced. He had never been good at comforting people, especially girls. Don't even get him started on Hannah.

"For years, this family owned the paper—the Dorians. They had a white's only policy. After they sold it, Jimmy became the first black reporter. He didn't stop until he became editor. He taught me everything..." Cassie drifted off, and Dean could tell she was lost in her own thoughts. She tilted her head, looking at him strangely. "Where's your brother? And your... friend?"

Dean leaned against the wooden pillar, frowning at her. Why did she take so long to say friend? He decided against asking her about it. "Not here," he answered, shrugging.

"Oh, alright." Cassie leaned against the opposite pillar. "So, um, what brings you here?"

"Trying to find the connection between the three victims," he replied. Dean swore she deflated a little by his response. "By the way, did you talk to your mom about what Todd said about not being a racist?"

"I did. She didn't want to talk about it."

"Right."

Then there was silence. Dean glanced down at his feet, suppressing a smile. He had suspected it since he first saw her this week, but now that question about his brother and _friend_ confirmed it.

"So just then, why did you ask where Sam and Hannah were?" Dean suddenly asked.

"Nothing. Not important," Cassie replied easily. Her smile couldn't have been faker.

"Could it be because, without them here it's just you and me?" Dean questioned, staring at her.

"It's not easier. Look, I—" Cassie started, but Dean brushed her off, turning away so he wouldn't have to look at her.

"No, it's fine." He didn't want to do _this._ Talking about it brought up old memories, some Dean preferred not to dwell on, so Sam could kiss his ass. "We'll keep it strictly business."

"I forgot you do that," Cassie remarked. He could feel the heat of her dark eyes burning into his back.

"Do what?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Oh. Whenever we get, what's the word..." she pretended to think. "_Close?_ Anywhere in the neighborhood of emotional vulnerability, you back off. Or make some joke. Or find any way to shut the door on me."

Dean bit the inside of his cheek, irritated. He swallowed down his frustrations and forced out a bark of laughter. "Oh that's hilarious," he snarled, turning back to face her. "See, _I'm_ not the one who took that big final door and slammed it behind me."

"Okay, wait a minute—"

"And _I'm_ not the one who took the key and buried it."

"We done with this metaphor?" Cassie demanded.

"All I'm saying is I was totally upfront with you back then, and you nailed me for it," Dean shouted, unable to stop his anger from surging out.

"The guy I'm with, the guy I'm _hoping_ might be in my future tells me he professionally pops _ghosts_," she exclaimed.

"That's not the words I used!" Dean yelled.

"And that he has to leave, to go work with his father," she continued.

"I did!" he said hotly.

"All I could think was, if you want out fine, but don't tell me this _insane_ story," Cassie said, hurt plain on her face.

"It was the truth, Cassie, and I notice it didn't sound insane the minute you thought I could _help_ you," Dean pointed out, his voice still raised.

"Well back then I thought you just wanted to dump me!" Cassie exclaimed.

"_Whoa! _Let's not forget who dumped who, okay?"

"I _thought_ it was what you wanted!"

"Well, it wasn't."

Dean was suddenly aware of the proximity of their bodies.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," Cassie said, anguished.

"Well, you did," Dean snapped.

"I'm _sorry_!"

"Yeah, me too."

They stared at each other, both breathing heavily and then out of nowhere she _kissed _him. He was too shocked to kiss back, and could only gape at her with wide eyes when she pulled back. Recovering quickly, Dean moved his hands to her face and kissed her hard. She scratched her nails down his back, pulling at the shirt.

"Wait!" Cassie broke away, but not out of his hold. "What about Hannah?"

"What?" Dean couldn't believe this. "What _about _Hannah?"

"Aren't you two...?" Cassie looked up at him, the fearlessness gone from her face.

He let go of her face. Dean had the strangest impulse to laugh—or groan. Him and Hannah? _Together? _That made as much sense as Van Halen performing with the Spice Girls.

"We've known each other since we were kids," he said, unable to suppress his laughter.

"So? That wouldn't stop you from dating her," Cassie murmured, her voice smaller than he knew she wished it was. "Do you have feelings for her?"

"I don't want her to die or anything," Dean answered. It was more than that. He _couldn't _have her die. He'd never forgive himself if she did.

"That's sweet of you," she said, her smile a touch sardonic.

Did she seriously think he was dating Hannah? Sure, she was pretty and had an incredible rack and stared at him with an intensity that scared him more times than he cared to admit, but… she was _Hannah_. She was Bobby's little girl. She was his friend… probably his only friend. He wondered if they gave off that couple-ly vibe, but they didn't _do _anything that warranted that sort of assumption... right?

"Cassie," Dean started, smiling the same smile he perfected at fourteen. The same one that gave girls weak knees and butterflies in their bellies. "I have _never _looked at Hannah the way I look at you, okay? She's just a friend."

She gazed at him, her eyes searching his for the truth. Dean stared back, challenging her.

After what seemed like an eternity, Cassie kissed him, that fervor from their first kiss remaining. "Come one," she murmured against his mouth. Dean let her lead him to her bedroom.

* * *

It took all of Hannah's willpower not to vomit when she woke up and saw Dean still missing.

When they first started this search for John Winchester, Hannah decided that none of them should fraternize with any civvies during jobs. She believed it distracted them from figuring out how to kill the creature they were hunting. Boys rarely approached Hannah, and she guessed it was because they probably thought she was dating one of the Winchesters. Hannah didn't have to worry about Sam often since he was still mourning Jessica.

Dean was another matter.

Sometimes between jobs, he'd disappear in the bar they were hustling at with an attractive girl then come back hours later, clothes rumpled and a dopey smile on his face. Hannah never mentioned anything since they weren't hunting during those times, only reminding him to wear a condom.

"I _always _wrap my shit up," Dean had said. "And if something itches, you can always check it for me, can't you?"

"I don't specialize in venereal diseases," Hannah had huffed, her face warm.

Hannah had to buy some ginger ale from the nearby convenience store to quell her stomach. When she returned to the motel room, Sam was watching the news. She widened her eyes when she heard that Mayor Todd was _killed _last night. His death seemed to match the recent ones, but at the same time it didn't. She didn't get much time to ponder this as Sam motioned for her to go shower while he called his brother.

After they were both dressed, Hannah and Sam hailed a cab to the scene. They flashed some badges to the cops patrolling the area and sought out the sheriff. As he explained the details to them, Hannah was still perplexed. She wanted to ask Sam what he thought, but he was still questioning the sheriff. She nudged him when she spotted Dean making their way towards them. His clothes were rumpled yet there was no dopey smile on his face. Hannah assured the sheriff that Dean was with them and he left them to speak to some other officers.

"Where were you last night?" Sam asked, no beating around the bush. "You didn't make it back to the hotel."

"Well..." Dean looked at Hannah. "Not gonna chew me out, Princess?"

"For what?"

"For sleeping on the job."

"No."

He opened his mouth then closed it, surprised. Hannah shifted on her feet, uneasy with the weight of both Dean and Sam's stares on her.

"Dean, I'm sorry," she said, her words rushed. "I wasn't acting like a friend the other night because I was... well, _hurt _that you never told me about your first girlfriend, but I realize now that it isn't any of my business, so... friends?"

Dean regarded her for a moment, before smiling. Hannah couldn't help but return his smile with her own.

"Yeah—oof!" Dean stumbled back when Hannah launched herself on him. He patted her back and quickly untangled himself from her. "So, what happened?"

"Every bone crushed. Internal organs turned to pudding. The cops are all stumped, it's like something ran him over," Sam explained as the three of them walked back to the Impala.

"Something like a truck?" Dean guessed.

"Yep," Hannah affirmed.

"Tracks?"

"Nope."

"What was the Mayor doing here anyway?" Dean wondered.

"He owned the property," Hannah answered. "Bought it a few weeks ago, actually."

"But he's _white_," Dean pointed out, puzzled. "He doesn't fit the pattern."

"Killings didn't happen up on the road. That doesn't fit either," Sam retorted, then paused in his walking. "You have access to the articles at Cassie's work. Research it."

"What about you?" Dean asked him. He sounded mildly annoyed, and Hannah could only guess it had something to do with taking orders from his little brother.

"Courthouse. Got to find out more about this property, right?" Sam replied, then gestured for keys. "I can drop you off at her work."

They made it back to the Impala, and Hannah played with her hamsa amulet. The building where Cassie worked wasn't too far, and Hannah was about to climb in the passenger seat when Dean paused on his way out. He twisted around to look at her.

"You aren't coming?" he asked, frowning.

"Oh, um..." Hannah shrunk back, unsure of how to tell him this. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Well, why not?" Dean pressed. Could he be anymore clueless?

"You and Cassie just got back together, and it'll be weird if I'm there—"

"No, it won't."

_You're supposed to be an expert on girls_, Hannah thought, exasperated. Couldn't Dean just leave it alone?

"Look, some girls are territorial when it comes to boys, and I don't want her to get the wrong idea..."

Dean dropped his head, groaning. He looked back up at her, and said, "Fine. Sam, don't you dare fuck up my Baby, got it?"

Sam flashed him a thumbs up. Dean glanced at Hannah then finally slipped out of the passenger seat, allowing her to climb over and plop down on the leather seat.

The courthouse records showed that the Mayor had bought an abandoned property. It turned out to be a huge deal since the previous owners—the Dorians—had owned the property for 150 years. According to Cassie, the Dorians previously owned the newspaper she worked at, and were pretty racist considering they had a whites-only staff policy.

Hannah guessed it was one of the Dorians haunting the town. She was proven right when Dean mentioned a Cyrus Dorian who had gone missing, and that the killings began the day after the mayor bulldozed the old property. The only problem was that they needed to figure out where to locate Cyrus's remains.

They spent some time guessing where to find Cyrus's remains at a local diner, and everything was almost back to the way it was until Cassie called.

"Cassie's in trouble," was all Dean said before asking their waitress for the bill.

When they reached Cassie's place, Hannah felt an urge to upchuck her dinner as she watched Cassie run into Dean's arms, crying. Swallowing down her hurt, Hannah offered to make tea for the terrified girl and her mother. Sam offered to help Hannah, and the two messed around in the kitchen.

"Han, you looked downright sick to your stomach when you saw Dean and Cassie," Sam mentioned.

"Can you blame me? They're so darn cute," Hannah replied, shooting him a sweet smile. He snorted and poured the boiling water into two teacups. "I'm glad they made up and all, but I'd rather not watch them _do _any couple-ly things"

"I thought you'd be all for it," Sam commented, and she looked up at him sharply. "I mean, you're so encouraging when it comes to these sorts of things."

"This conversation ends now," Hannah said cheerily, adding a few drops of lemon to each drink. They each took one teacup and walked back to the living room where she handed one to Mrs. Robinson, while Sam gave the other one to Cassie.

"Maybe you could throw a couple of shots in that," Cassie joked, though it fell flat with her hands shaking the cup. Dean tucked her closer to his side, like the protective boyfriend Hannah imagined he'd be.

"So, you didn't see the truck?" Sam asked her as he settled himself in the armchair. Hannah leaned against the armrest, tempted to sit on it.

"It seemed to be no one. Everything was moving so fast, and then it was just gone," she answered, her hands still rattling the cup. She glanced at them. "Why didn't it kill us?"

"Whoever was controlling the truck wants you afraid first," Dean told her.

"Mrs. Robinson, Cassie said that your husband saw the truck before he died," Hannah said, looking at the older woman. She had been silent since they arrived, and Hannah wondered if she was keeping something from them.

"Mom?" Cassie called softly. Her mother was trembling in her chair.

"Oh. Martin was under a lot of stress. You can't be sure about what he was seeing," Mrs. Robinson dismissed, lifting the cup to her mouth.

"Well after tonight, I think we can be reasonably sure he was seeing a truck," Dean spoke up. There was an edge to his voice, and Hannah recognized that he was getting irritated. "What happened tonight, you and Cassie are marked, okay? Your daughter could _die_. So, if you know something, now would be a _really_ good time to tell us about it."

"Dean." Cassie shot him a reproachful look.

A beat passed, and Mrs. Robinson reluctantly set down her teacup.

"Yes," she admitted, her eyes downcast. "Yes, he said he saw a truck."

"Did he know who it belonged to?" Sam inquired, his voice not unkind.

"He _thought_ he did," Mrs. Robinson murmured.

"Who was it?" Dean pressed.

"Cyrus," she snapped "A man named Cyrus."

Hannah exchanged a knowing look with the boys, and watched as Dean pulled out a newspaper article. There was a black and white picture of a dark-haired man on the front, and Mrs. Robinson widened her eyes at it.

"Is this Cyrus?" Dean asked.

"Cyrus Dorian died more than forty years ago," she informed them.

"How do you know he died, Mrs. Robinson?" Hannah asked softly. "The papers said he went missing. How do you know he died?"

"We were all very young. I dated Cyrus a while, I was also seeing Martin... in secret of course. Inter-racial couples didn't go over too well back then," she revealed tentatively. "When I broke it off with Cyrus and when he found out about Martin, I don't know, he, _changed_. His hatred. His hatred was _frightening_."

"The rumors," Sam urged her.

"There were rumors. People of color disappearing into some kind of a truck. Nothing was ever done. Martin and a..." she sounded close to crying. "Martin and I, we were going to get married in that little church near here, but last minute we decided to elope as we didn't want the attention."

Mrs. Robinson started sobbing as she told them that someone set fire to the church he was going to get married at. Hannah moved off the armrest and went to the bathroom downstairs, collecting some toilet paper. She handed it to Mrs. Robinson who accepted it tearfully.

"Why didn't you call the cops?" she heard Dean ask.

_Because the cops wouldn't have helped an interracial couple,_ Hannah thought, perching herself carefully on the armrest of Sam's chair.

"This was forty years ago," Mrs. Robinson explained, sniffling. "He called on his friends, Clayton Soames and Jimmy Anderson, and they put Cyrus' body into the truck and they rolled it into the swamp at the end of his land and all three of them kept that secret all of these years."

"And now all three are gone," Sam stated.

"And so is Mayor Todd. Now he said that you of all people would know he is not a racist. Why would he say that?" Dean questioned.

"He was a good man. He was a young deputy back then investigating Cyrus' disappearance. Once he figured out what Martin and the others had done he..." the older woman let out a shuddering breath. "He did nothing, because he also knew what Cyrus had done."

Cassie blinked back tears. "Why didn't you _tell _me?"

"I thought I was protecting them, and now there's no one left to protect," she replied, her voice wavering.

"Yes, there is." Dean looked at the girl beside him, and so did Mrs. Robinson. She reached for her mother's hand, and Cassie clasped it tightly.

* * *

"Ah, my life was so simple," Hannah heard Sam lament. He was leaning against the Impala, while Dean paced back and forth in front of him. "Just school, exams, papers on polycentric cultural norms."

She looked up from glove compartment and exchanged an amused glance with Dean. She was sitting in the passenger seat searching for some gloves for the boys. The cold was almost unbearable, and Hannah was stuck wearing her grey coat over her ribbed knit pink sweater and light blue denim jeans.

"So, I guess I saved you from a boring existence," Dean said, no longer pacing.

"Yeah, occasionally I miss boring," Sam retorted.

"So, this killer truck—" Dean started, but Sam cut him off.

"I miss conversations that didn't start with 'this killer truck,'" he sighed. Hannah burst into uncontrollable giggles, while Dean chuckled.

"Well, this Cyrus guy. Evil on a level that infected even his truck. When he died, the swamp became his tomb, and his spirit was dormant for forty years," Dean summarized.

"So, what woke it up?" Sam wondered.

Hannah rolled down the window and poked her head out. "The construction on his house—or the destruction."

"Right. Demolition or remodeling can awaken spirits, make them restless," Sam said, glancing at her.

"Found them!" Hannah exclaimed, lifting two pairs of black gloves. She stepped out of the passenger seat and handed one pair to Sam and the other to Dean.

"And the guy that tore down the family homestead, Harold Todd, is the same guy that kept Cyrus' murder quiet and unsolved," Dean continued, moving so Hannah could stand between him and Sam.

"Now his spirit is awakened and out for blood," Sam added.

"That sounds like the tagline for a shitty horror movie," Dean remarked. He noticed Hannah looking at his hands. "What's up?"

"Why aren't you putting on your gloves?" Hannah asked him. When he said nothing, she bumped his shoulder with her own. "As a registered nurse, I'm telling you to wear them."

"And if I don't?"

"You can get frostbite and lose one of your fingers."

"Wear the gloves, Dean," encouraged another voice. Hannah peered behind Dean to find Cassie, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket. "So, my mom's asleep. Now what?"

Dean's back faced her and Sam as he spoke to Cassie. Hannah heard her say something about being authoritative before Dean mumbled something. Sam elbowed her when Dean started to kiss Cassie, and she refrained from rolling her eyes. Sam cleared his throat, and Dean gave him the finger. Dean finally pulled away, and hopped into the driver's seat, yelling, "You guys coming or what?"

Hannah offered Cassie a mild wave goodbye before climbing into the backseat. Half an hour passed until they finally reached the swamp. Thankfully, there was a tractor on the property and Dean drove it over to the swamp where he connected the hook with the truck in the swamp. It was a messy thing to do, but Dean managed to get it done.

At the wheel of the tractor, Dean pressed on the gas and slowly dragged the black truck out of the swamp. Sam gestured for him to stop once the truck was out of the swamp, and Dean turned off the engine. He made his way over to the trunk of the Impala and lifted his hand for a high five. Hannah laughed and gave him one.

"Now I know what she sees in you," Sam said as Dean rummaged through his duffel bag full of weapons.

"What?" he asked distractedly.

"Come on, man. You can admit it to us," Sam coaxed, smiling. "You're still in love with her."

"Can we focus please?" Hannah piped up.

"Right on, Princess," Dean mumbled, then handed her a flashlight. "Hold that."

"Sure thing, Dean-o." She grinned at his frown.

They went over to the truck and stood by the driver's door. Hannah glanced at the boys, wondering who would open it, but it was ultimately Dean who opened the door, stepping back when Cyrus Dorian's remains fell out. Hannah scrunched up her nose from the smell and watched the boys to drag the body over to a wooden table.

She helped salt and burn the body, watching it burn. Hannah glanced up at them, and asked, "Think that will do it?"

The sound of an engine revving answered her question.

"I guess not," Dean breathed, staring at the killer truck with wide eyes.

"So, burning the body had no effect on that thing?" Sam asked as the headlights nearly blinded them.

"Sure it did. Now it's really pissed," Dean replied, and Hannah nearly smacked him.

"But Cyrus's ghost is gone, right?" he asked, looking at her and his brother.

"Apparently not the part that's fused with the truck—Hey! Where are you going?" Hannah shouted at Dean. He had started walking back to his car.

"Going for a little ride," he answered from behind the trunk.

"_What?"_ Hannah and Sam exclaimed.

"Gonna lead that thing away," Dean explained, slamming his trunk shut. "You guys got to burn that busted piece of shit."

"How the _hell _are we supposed to burn a truck, Dean?" Sam demanded. He gaped at Dean, barely catching the green duffel bag that was thrown at him.

"Figure it out," was Dean's response before driving off. Hannah grasped Sam's arm and brought him down, hiding behind the table where they burned Cyrus' remains. Once Dean and the truck were gone, they both stood and looked at each other, unsure of what to do.

Not even a minute passed when _For Whom the Bell Tolls_ by Metallica chimed out of her pocket. Hannah answered, wincing from the roughness in Dean's voice.

"Yeah, so, you have to give us a minute—"

"_I don't have a fucking minute! What are we doing?_"

Hannah glanced at Sam who was studying a map in John's journal.

"Um, let me get back to you," she said, then promptly hung up before he could shout at her. "Sam? Anything?"

"Yeah, I think I found a way to get rid of Cyrus' spirit," he answered without looking up. "Remember what Cassie's mom was telling us? About the church he burned down with the children?"

"Kind of. I was getting tissues for her mom," Hannah said, frowning. "What does this have to do with anything?"

"Church is hallowed ground, whether the church is still there or not. Evil spirits cross over hallowed ground, sometimes they're destroyed," he explained.

"Right, so if Cyrus's truck goes then he gets destroyed," Hannah realized, then smiled. "Good thinking. Um, let me call Cassie and see if she can get some directions."

"That would be helpful," Sam said.

She dialed Cassie's number and asked for accurate directions to the burned down church. Hannah wrote it down on an empty page of John's journal then had Sam repeat them to Dean. He put his phone on speaker, and Hannah cringed from Dean's shouting. She held her breath when it was silent for a couple seconds.

"Dean?" she called, afraid. "Please tell me you're there."

"_Where'd it go?"_ he asked, shocked.

"Dean, you're where the church was," Sam said.

"_What fucking church?"_

"The place Cyrus burned down. Murdered all those kids."

"_There's not a whole lot left_."

Sam explained to him the hallowed ground and how evil spirits are sometimes destroyed when crossing over it. "So, I figured maybe that would get rid of it," he finished.

"_Maybe?__"_ he echoed, anger and disbelief coloring his tone. "_Maybe! What if you were wrong?__"_

"Huh. Honestly, the thought hadn't occurred to me," Sam admitted, sheepish. "Uh, hello?"

"I think he hung up," Hannah said after a few seconds of silence. She punched Sam's arm. "I can't believe you were just winging it back there."

"Sometimes that's all you can do, Han," Sam admitted, brushing some hair out of his eyes.

When Dean returned, he immediately shouted at Sam, "I'm gonna kill you!"

Hannah stepped in front of him before he got the chance.

"You're not hurt, right?" she asked, checking him for injuries.

"No, no." Dean tilted his head out of Hannah's grasp. "I don't have a scratch on me, but you might want to check on Sam, because he's about to get a black eye for almost giving me a goddamn heart attack!"

"But you already _had _one, remember?" Sam pointed out. Hannah gasped and looked up at Dean, but he didn't seem to angry. Instead, he laughed and Sam joined in not long after.

"You guys have a terrible sense of humor," Hannah said, crossing her arms. Yet she couldn't keep her frown when Dean and Sam were laughing together.

* * *

They checked out their motel the next morning and waited by the docks for Cassie. Dean had wanted to spend a little time with her before they left, and Sam didn't need much convincing. Hannah was fiddling with her phone while Dean and Cassie talked.

"Hey." Hannah looked up from Sam's voice and rolled her eyes when he gestured to Dean kissing Cassie. Sam chuckled at her and offered a small wave to Cassie as Dean climbed into the passenger seat.

"It was nice meeting you," Cassie told her, smiling.

"Yeah, you too." Hannah forced a smile..

Sam drove for most of the day while Dean slept. Hannah had stayed quiet until she was certain Dean was in a deep sleep that she decided to play I spy with Sam. They stopped playing the game, though, and found themselves talking about their favorite episodes of _The_ _Twilight Zone_.

It was the middle of the night when they reached their first gas station outside of Ohio. Dean had woken up then and insisted he drive after he paid for the gas. Hannah followed him inside the gas station and went to bathroom before buying a few snacks for the three of them. She and Dean leaned against the car, waiting as the car collected the gas.

"Do you miss her?" Hannah asked.

"Do I miss her?" Dean repeated, looking up from the gas pump. "... I shouldn't."

"Why not?" Hannah inquired, curious now.

"Because she won't miss me," he answered, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket. "She said she didn't see much hope for us."

_Ouch_.

"Well, she doesn't know what she's missing out on," she said, touching his elbow.

Dean widened his eyes, then smirked. "Trying to win my heart, Princess?"

She smiled, covering one of her cheeks with her hand. "I didn't know you were so easy win over."

"Just give me a bacon burger and tell me how handsome I am, then I'm yours," he advised, putting away the gas pump.

"I'll keep that in mind," Hannah replied, bumping him with her shoulder as she climbed into the backseat.


	14. Nightmare

**Author's Note: **Thank you guys for following and favoriting! This story has gotten over one hundred reviews! Woo! I definitely appreciate the love I'm receiving for this fic. I'm sorry if this chapter isn't as interesting as the other ones, this was is one of my least favorites. Oh well, hopefully you guys like it.

Shoutout to my beta _flailingwhaling_. Lastly, special thanks to _grapejuice101_, _JenRiley16_, _The-Effulgent-One_, _allfandoms3_, _nosserate_, _Lt-Spork89_, _professionalemail101_, _applehead321_, _Cassie D-1_, _LadyoftheMorning_, and six guests for the lovely reviews.

Please enjoy and review this chapter!

* * *

**14.**

**Nightmare**

_It seemed as though Hannah was walking for hours through a long, never-ending hallway. She called out Sam and Dean's names, but her voice only echoed throughout the hall. Finally, the hallway ended in a stairway descending to darkness. Hannah hesitated, unsure of what down there led to, but the lights began to flicker off above her. As she listened, Hannah heard something else coming, shuffling and dragging itself along the ground. _

_Terror filled her, and Hannah rushed down the stairway. _

_When she reached the bottom of the stairway, Hannah found herself in another hallway—this time colorless, pristine, and glaring. It was a hospital, she realized. Hannah willed herself to keep walking, and ignored how her heart pounded in her chest. Doors opened before her, and a scream lodged in her throat._

_There she was six years ago, on the ground pale and steadily dying. Blood seeped out of her wounds, trickling down to the white floors in a puddle while it soaked her clothes. Hannah couldn't move, but her attention was arrested by another body not too far from her own. Dean was near her, lifeless, with his chest mauled and torn open._

"_Sam!" Hannah called._

"_Sam's not here." She whirled, only to see Sam standing behind her. _

"_Sam...?" Hannah asked, afraid._

_"Sam's not here," he repeated._

_His eyes turned black and Hannah screamed._

"Hannah!" She felt herself get shaken awake, but she kept her eyes closed, terrified of staring into those black eyes.

Hannah finally opened her eyes, only to see Dean's face looming over hers. She stared at him as her heartbeat slowed down, relieved to see that he wasn't bleeding anymore. _It was just a nightmare_, Hannah thought.

"You alright?" he asked, concerned. "You were making noise."

"I thought you were dead," she blurted out, her voice hoarse.

"Well, I'm not..." Dean said, regarding her. "It was just a nightmare."

"I know." Hannah averted her eyes, uncomfortable with their closeness and the way he was looking at her. She glanced around the room as she sat up, noticing Sam collecting their scattered things in a rush. "What's going on?"

Dean moved away from her and off the bed. "You're not the only one who's had a nightmare."

* * *

Sam told to them that he had another vision explaining why they were driving in the middle of the night to Michigan. Hannah was still fidgety over her own nightmare, and was wide awake in the backseat. Her heart fluttered each time Dean glanced at her through the rear view mirror, but she refused to meet his eyes.

"Sammy, relax," said Dean once Sam was off the phone. "I'm sure it's just a nightmare. You know a normal, everyday, naked-in-class, nightmare. This license plate, it won't check out. You'll see."

"It felt different, Dean," insisted Sam, turning to look at him. "_Real_. Like when I dreamt about our old house, and Jessica."

"Yeah, that makes sense," Dean agreed, but sounded less than convinced. "You're dreaming about _our_ house, _your_ girlfriend. This guy in your dream—you ever seen him before?"

"No," Sam said quietly.

"No. Exactly. Why would you have premonitions about some random dude in Michigan?" Dean questioned.

"I don't know," Sam admitted.

"Me neither," Dean said, focusing entirely on the road.

No one said anything for a moment until Hannah spoke up softly.

"Dean has a point," she ceded, "but Sam's visions could be getting stronger to the point that he can sense danger."

"You mean he can sense when someone's getting robbed or something?" Dean asked, frowning.

"No, I mean like _our _kind of danger," Hannah answered, drawing her knees up under her chin.

Sam turned, looking at her from over his seat. He opened his mouth, but the trilling of his phone was heard instead. Flipping it open, Sam furrowed his eyebrows as he listened to the person on the other line. Hannah watched, curious.

"Jim Miller. Saginaw, Michigan. You have a street address? Got it? Thanks." Sam promptly hung up. He looked at his brother. "It checks out. How far are we?"

"From Saginaw? Couple hours," Dean answered, glancing at Sam worriedly.

"Drive faster," Sam told him.

* * *

Hannah was mildly surprised to see police cars surrounding the street address Sam found. There was a crowd of neighbors outside of the house, watching as a cop spoke to a sobbing woman and an emotionless boy on the porch. Dean parked nearby the scene and went over to the crowd, with her and Sam following.

"What happened?" Dean asked a woman beside him.

The woman barely glanced at him, too rapt in the scene in front of them. "Suicide," she revealed, "Can you believe it?"

"Did you know them?" Hannah inquired, shifting on her feet.

"Saw him in every Sunday at St. Augustine's. He always seems—_seemed_ so normal." The correction was not lost on Hannah or the boys. "I guess you never know what's going on behind closed doors."

Dean stared ahead at the house. "I guess not."

Sam moved a little closer to the woman, and sounded distraught as he asked her, "How did... How are they saying it happened?"

She shook her head, fraught. "I heard they found him in the garage, locked inside his car with the engine running."

There was a pained expression on Sam's face, and Hannah realized he must have felt responsible for this stranger's death. She touched his forearm, garnering his attention. Sam stared at her, reading her face. _You did all you could_, Hannah told him silently, hoping he'd understand.

"Do you know what time they found him?" Sam questioned, turning away from Hannah. He didn't shake his arm from her grasp, though.

"Oh, it just happened about an hour or two ago," she revealed then sighed. "His poor family. I can't even imagine what they're going through."

Hannah looked back at the house. The cop had left, but the woman was still sobbing. A man held her while the younger man stood nearby. She felt Sam brush past her as he weaved his way out of the crowd. Without meaning to, Hannah locked eyes with Dean. Concern crossed his features, and with a subtle nod of his head, they both followed Sam to where he stood by the Impala.

Dean leaned against the hood of the car, and sighed. "Sam, we got here as fast as we could."

"Not fast enough," Sam hissed, looking up from his feet. "It doesn't make any sense, man. Why would I even have these premonitions if there wasn't a chance I could stop them from happening?"

"Everything happens for a reason," Hannah told him. She figured that was better than saying 'I don't know.'

Sam grimaced, her words not soothing him.

"So, what do you guys think killed him?" Sam questioned.

"Maybe the guy just killed himself? Maybe there's nothing supernatural going on at all," Dean suggested, glancing back at the surrounded house.

"I'm telling you guys, I _watched _it happen," Sam insisted, shaking his head. "He was murdered by something, Dean. I watched it trap him in the garage."

"What was it—a spirit, poltergeist, what?"

"I don't know _what_ it was. I don't know why I'm having these dreams. I don't know what the hell is hap—"

The way Hannah gripped his hoodie startled him into silence. His anger lessened as his eyes softened, but the panicked look on his face remained. She could feel Dean watching them, surprised.

"Listen to me, Sam," Hannah started quietly. "Do not blame yourself for that man's death. We won't be able to solve anything if you keep beating yourself over it."

She stepped away from him, tucking an errant hair behind her ear. "We'll check it out, okay? Because I believe you."

Sam stared at her before ducking his head, muttering, "Thank you."

"Come on, let's pick this up in the morning," Dean agreed, unlocking the car. "We'll talk to the family."

"Dean, you saw them, they're devastated," Hannah reminded him.

"Yeah, they're not going to want to talk to us," Sam pointed out.

Dean paused, thinking for a moment. "Yeah, you guys are right," he admitted, "But I think I know who they _will _talk to."

"Who?" Sam and Hannah both asked.

From the smirk on his face, Hannah could tell this was either going to go horribly wrong or it was going to _be _wrong.

* * *

"Admit it. It's genius," Dean said, grinning at her.

"It's _stupid_ is what it is," Hannah retorted, looking up to scowl at him. "_Priests_, Dean? We couldn't have been insurance agents or technicians or... or something less morally wrong?"

His grin hadn't faltered which irritated Hannah even more. He shrugged, undeterred by her criticism.

"I still think it's genius," he told her, done adjusting his priest collar.

Last night, Dean was convinced he had a stroke of self-proclaimed "genius." He somehow convinced Hannah and Sam that the best way to get the family of the stranger from Sam's dreams to talk was to disguise themselves as priests. They had both objected, but neither wanted to admit that the stranger's family would want to talk to priests rather than insurance agents.

"Maybe you want to wipe the smug look off your face and practice some humility, _Father_," hissed Sam, stepping out of the bathroom. His dark hair was combed back and out of his face neatly.

Dean's grin waned and he glared at his brother. "You're telling _me _about humility? I think you should speak to Sister Hannah about that."

He snickered when Hannah slapped his arm.

"Nuns shouldn't worry so much about makeup," Dean continued, rubbing where Hannah hit him. "And ease up on the lip gloss."

Hannah lifted her thumb to her lips, swiping off her lip gloss before reaching over to smudge it on Dean's cheek. He swatted her hand away from his face and wiped off her lip gloss angrily. She flashed him a gleeful smile, widening it when she heard Sam chuckle.

"Let's just go," groused Dean, collecting his keys and heading to the door.

She and Sam shared amused smiles before following him out. The drive to the house was relatively quiet, with Hannah fixing her black and white veil. Sam seemed to remember what they were doing and frowned in disapproval, muttering about it as Dean knocked on the front door. Hannah watched in amazement as Dean adopted a pious demeanor the second the front door opened.

"Good Afternoon. I'm Father Simmons; this is Father Frehley and Sister Thayer. We're new junior priests over at St Augustine's, and Sister Thayer here is overseeing us. May we come in?" he told the man.

The man looked reluctant, but nodded, stepping aside to let them in.

"Thank you," Hannah murmured as she brushed past him inside.

"We're very sorry for your loss," Sam added, following her.

"It's in difficult times like these when the Lord's guidance is most needed," Dean remarked, with not an ounce of sarcasm in his tone.

"Look," started the man, turning to face them. "You want to pitch your whole 'Lord has a plan' thing? Fine. Just don't pitch it to _me_. My brother's dead."

"Roger, please!" exclaimed a feminine voice. Hannah turned to see the sobbing woman from last night.

"Excuse me," grumbled Roger, moving away from them.

The woman watched him go before smiling apologetically at them. "I'm sorry about my brother-in-law. He's... he's just so upset about Jim's death. Would you like some coffee?"

Dean gave the woman a charming smile. "That would be great."

She led them to the living room, introducing herself as Alice Miller. Hannah and Dean took the couch while Sam settled himself on the armchair. The other guests inside the house acknowledged them with nods.

"It was wonderful for you three to stop by," said Ms. Miller, pouring them their coffee. "The support of the church means so much right now."

"Of course. After all we are all God's children," Dean preached, smiling gently.

_So stupid_, Hannah thought.

Ms. Miller nodded and went over to talk to another guest. Dean seized a cocktail sausage and shoved it in his mouth, dropping the toothpick back on the platter. Hannah shook her head, but said nothing.

"What?" she heard Dean ask, his mouth full. She elbowed his side, and he hissed, "_Ow_!"

"Manners, remember?" Hannah told him primly.

"Just tone it down a bit, _Father_," Sam advised, leaning back in his seat. Dean rolled his eyes and looked up when Ms. Miller returned, sitting down beside Hannah.

"So, Ms. Miller, did your husband have a history of depression?" Dean inquired, leaning forward to look at the widow.

"Nothing like that. We had our ups and downs like everyone but we were... we were happy." She glanced down at her lap, her voice quavering with emotion. "I just don't understand _how _Jim could do something like this."

"I'm so sorry you had to find him like that," Hannah murmured, putting a comforting hand on Ms. Miller's back.

"Actually, our son Max, he was the one who found him," Ms. Miller informed them, gesturing to a boy sitting in the corner of the dining room.

"Do you mind if maybe, I go talk to him?" Sam asked her.

Relief was plain on her face. "Oh _thank you_, Father."

Sam offered her a smile as he stood and went over to the dining room. Hannah reached up to tuck her hair then remembered she was wearing a veil. Smiling, she focused her attention on Ms. Miller.

"Ms. Miller, you have a lovely home. How long have you lived here?" Hannah asked brightly.

"We moved in about five years ago," she answered, dabbing her eyes.

"The only problem with these old houses," Dean started, still leaning forward. "I bet you have all kind of headaches."

Ms. Miller stared at him, puzzled. "Like what?"

"Well, weird leaks, electrical shortages, odd settling noises at night..." Dean listed, trailing off when he noticed the blank expression on the woman's face. "That kind of thing."

"No, nothing like that," she replied, shaking her head. "It's been perfect."

Hannah glanced at Dean, frowning. He shrugged, just as confused as she was.

"Huh." Dean pushed himself off the couch. "May I use your restroom?"

"Oh sure. It's just up the stairs," Ms. Miller told him. Dean nodded and before heading upstairs, he grabbed a handful of cocktail sausages.

_So stupid_, Hannah thought again, trying not to roll her eyes.

* * *

After changing out of their costumes, Hannah decided to help Sam research the Millers and their home. Dean opted to stay back at the motel, though he wasn't clear on what he planned on doing. He had shot Sam a smirk on their way out, and Sam looked at him in disgust.

_Must be a boy thing, _Hannah thought, dismissing it.

They returned to the motel a couple hours later with an armful of articles. Sam would read each one thoroughly before handing them to Hannah who skimmed them in case he missed something. Hannah frowned as she helped him pin the articles on the wall, knowing how disappointed Sam would be once they finished.

"What do you guys have?" Dean asked from his bed. They found him cleaning his guns when they returned and in his regular clothes.

"A whole lot of nothing. Nothing bad has happened in the Miller house since it was built," Sam replied, turning away from their makeshift board. He sat down on his bed with a heavy sigh.

"What about the land?" Dean questioned.

"No graveyards, battlefields, tribal lands, or any other kind of atrocity on or near the property," Hannah answered, turning away from the board. "I think Dean's right."

"No shit?" Dean widened his eyes, feigning surprise. "Miss Know-It-All finally admits that _I'm_ right?"

Hannah rolled her eyes and looked back to the board. Part of her hoped there was something supernatural going on so Dean could shove it, but then she remembered Sam, and felt a wave of guilt.

"Hey, man I told you, I searched that house up and down. No cold spots or sulfur scent. Nada," Dean said, addressing Sam.

"And the family said everything was normal?" Sam questioned, tilting around to look at Dean.

"Well, if there was a demon or poltergeist in there you think somebody would have noticed something?" Dean set down the gun he was cleaning. "I used the infrared thermal scanner, man, and there was nothing."

"So what, you guys think Jim Miller killed himself and my dream was just some sort of freakish coincidence?" Sam demanded, glancing between her and Dean.

Dean met her hesitant gaze. There was an understanding in his eyes, like he was aware that he wasn't the only one who was worried about Sam's visions nor had any explanation that would satisfy Sam's constant questions. Hannah lifted one shoulder in a small shrug, and he nodded.

"I dunno," was Dean's eventual response. "I'm pretty sure there's nothing supernatural about that house."

"Yeah. Well, maybe it has nothing to do with the house," Sam told them, holding his head in his hands. He hissed in pain. "Maybe it's just... _God_..." Hannah glanced in Dean's direction before going to her backpack where she kept a small bottle of Advil. "Maybe it's connected to Jim in some way?"

"What's wrong with you?" Dean asked him, concerned.

"My head," groaned Sam. He slid off the bed and collapsed on the floor, squeezing his eyes shut.

Hannah rushed over to him, nearly knocking over Dean who crouched in front of him, grasping Sam's arms. "Sam! What's going on?" Dean said, shaking him a little. "_Talk to me_."

For a moment, Sam said nothing, only hissing in pain and keeping his eyes tightly shut. Hannah hadn't realized how long she held her breath, letting out a relieved sigh when Sam finally opened his eyes.

"It's happening again," he rasped out. "Something's going to kill Roger Miller."

"Are you sure?" Hannah asked, feeling his forehead.

"_Yes,_ now let's go." Sam stood to his feet and moved to the door. Hannah quickly grabbed her jacket and followed him out of the motel.

Sliding into the backseat, Hannah hoped this wouldn't be like yesterday with Jim Miller. She was sure Sam was already overwhelmed with his strange visions, but to see someone die and unable to save them was traumatizing.

The second Sam got off the phone, Hannah leaned forward and asked, "Does your head still hurt?"

"I'm fine," he answered, anxiousness coloring his tone.

"If you're gonna hurl I'll pull the car over, you know, cause the upholstery..." Dean told him, glancing at the passenger seat warily.

"You're more worried about your _upholstery _than your brother?" Hannah asked, appalled.

"Do you not understand that this a 1967 Chevy Impala—"

"I know what kind of car it is."

"—So why don't you get how important the upholstery is_?_"

"Guys, enough," cut in Sam, abruptly ending their argument. "I'm fine, okay? It's just... I'm scared. These nightmares weren't bad enough, now I'm seeing things when I'm awake? And these visions, or whatever, they're getting more intense, and painful."

"Come on man, you'll be alright. It'll be fine," Dean assured him.

"What _is_ it about the Millers? Why am I connected to them, why am I watching them die? Why the hell is this happening to me?" Sam questioned, bouncing his knee nervously.

Hannah bit her lip. "I don't know, Sam, but we'll figure it out together. We've faced the unexplainable every day. This..." she paused, taking a deep breath and trying to explain. "_This _is just another thing. If we treat it like another thing, we'll figure it out like we always do... okay?"

Sam stared at her, and she could see how scared he truly was.

"I can't treat it as another thing because it's never been _us_. It's never been in the family like _this_," Sam stressed. He glanced between her and Dean anxiously. "Tell the truth, none of you can't tell me this doesn't freak you guys out."

No one spoke. Hannah couldn't admit it—not out loud—but it _did _freak her out. They dealt with the strange and supernatural every day, but it just wasn't _normal _for someone like Sam to be experiencing the things he was, well, experiencing. She decided against even speaking, knowing fully well that it wouldn't make Sam feel any better.

Surprisingly, it was Dean who broke the silence.

"This doesn't freak me out," Dean answered, staring ahead at the road.

He met no one's eyes yet Hannah had a feeling that he didn't speak truthfully. But she refused to hold it against him. Dean was the oldest out of them, their protector and leader. He was _supposed _to be fearless and if that meant lying through his teeth about something that clearly troubled them all then so be it.

Hannah would hold his secret for as long as he wanted her to.

* * *

They found Roger Miller walking home with groceries in his arms. Dean slowed down the Impala while Sam called out his name.

"What are you guys, missionaries? Leave me alone," groused Roger, quickening his pace.

"Please listen!" Sam shouted, but Roger ignored him. Just as Dean parked, Sam jumped out chased after him. "Roger, we're trying to help!"

"Please wait!" Hannah exclaimed, getting out of the backseat as quickly as she could.

"I don't _want _your help," Roger snapped before closing the door to his apartment building behind him.

"Roger, you're in danger!" Dean yelled after him. "Fuck!"

Dean looked around wildly before gesturing for Hannah and Sam to follow him. Glancing around, Dean kicked open the back entrance to the fire escape. They ran up the stairs, and Hannah hastily grabbed the railing in a halting stop when she heard a window slide down and an awful squelching sound as something fell.

Hannah and Sam exchanged frightened looks, but continued up where Hannah let out a sharp gasp when she saw Roger's decapitated _head _in his flower bed underneath his blood splattered window. It sort of reminded her of college where she would volunteer at the school hospital and would see bones poking out of someone's skin, limbs hanging onto their bodies by a thread, infected wounds... but she had never seen a decapitated head.

"Start wiping down your fingerprints, we don't want the cops to know we were here," Dean instructed as he tossed them rags. "Come on! Do it while I'll take a look inside."

Using his own rag, Dean carefully opened Roger's window and climbed inside. Hannah did as he said, but paused when she noticed Sam rubbing down the railing so hard the railing shook. She touched his wrist, and he froze.

"Sam, we tried," she said softly.

"I..." he averted his eyes, unmistakable guilt on his face. "I know."

She looked at him for a moment before continuing to wipe down the railing. Dean climbed out a minute later and the three of them hurried down the fire escape and to the alley where they could avoid the police.

"I'm telling you there was nothing in there. No signs either, just like the Miller's house," Dean repeated after Sam asked him again if he saw anything back in Roger's home.

"I saw _something_ in the vision," Sam insisted. "Like a dark shape. Something was... something was stalking Roger."

"Whatever it was, are you sure it's not connected to their house?" Hannah asked, crossing her arms.

"No, it's connected to the family themselves," Sam answered, glancing down at her. "So what do you guys think, like a vengeful spirit?"

"Most likely," Hannah replied, looking up at the night sky. She lowered her head, her insides twisting as she remembered Roger's head. "There's a few that have been known to latch onto families, follow them for years, like banshees."

"Basically like a curse," Dean deduced. He frowned when Hannah accidentally kicked a pebble over to him. She smiled sheepishly yet he didn't seem annoyed, merely rolling it back to her with his foot. "So, maybe Roger and Jim Miller got involved in something heavy, something curse worthy."

"And now it's angry and the men in their family are dying," Sam concluded, running a hand through his shaggy hair. "Hey, you guys think Max is in danger?"

"Let's figure it out before he is," Hannah decided cheerfully. Her smile didn't falter even when Dean scoffed at her attitude.

"Well, I know one thing I have in common with these people," Sam commented as they climbed inside the Impala.

"What's that?" Dean questioned, pausing as he turned on his car.

"Both our families are cursed," Sam uttered, slumping in his seat moodily.

"Our family's not cursed!" Dean exclaimed, affronted. "We just... had our dark spots."

Sam snorted. "Our dark spots are pretty dark."

"_You're _dark," Dean replied lamely.

Hannah giggled in the backseat, laughing louder when Dean shot her an annoyed look. The drive back to the motel was filled with ideas on figuring out how to stop this vengeful ghost from attacking Max Miller. Both she and Sam groaned when Dean suggested the priests' outfits again.

She was about to enter the motel room after Sam when Dean grasped her forearm, stopping her momentarily.

"How you holding up, Princess?" Dean asked. His voice was laced with a softness she rarely heard from him.

"Fine." Hannah shrugged, though the memory of Roger's head filled her mind again.

"You sure?" He gazed about her, doubtful. "You know, no normal person would be 'fine' after seeing someone's head get chopped off."

"We aren't normal," she pointed out.

Dean dropped his head then lifted it up, staring at her in mild irritation. "You know what I mean."

Her heart thumped inside her chest so loud it roared in her ears, but she was only able to pay attention to how focused his eyes were on her and how _warm_ his hand was on her skin. _Why am I so nervous? _She wondered. _It's just Dean_.

"I'm more worried about Sam than myself," she admitted. He looked passed her and into the room, frowning slightly at his brother.

"Why are you worried? Didn't you say that everything would turn out fine and we'd figure out what's going on with Sammy?"

"Well... he just seems in pain and I'd hate to see him like that again."

He suddenly grinned at her.

"Do you have a crush on Sam?"

Hannah's jaw slackened and she shook her head, sputtering out a startled, "_What? _Of _course _not! He's like a brother to me!"

Dean let go of her arm, snickering. "I'm only joking, Princess."

She glared at him. "Well, it's not funny."

Her glare did not have the desired effect, only making Dean continue to snicker at her. Rolling her eyes, Hannah whirled and entered the motel room muttering 'so stupid'.

* * *

"My mom's resting," informed Max as he led them inside. "She's pretty wrecked."

"Of course," Hannah murmured. She stiffened when she caught the smirk Dean sent her.

"All these people kept coming with like, casseroles?" Max said, and Hannah glanced at the many foil wrapped casserole containers. "I finally had to tell them all to go away, you know, cause nothing says I'm sorry like a tuna casserole."

Sam chuckled, and Max smiled a little. He gestured for them to sit on the couch while he took the armchair.

"So, how you holding up?" Sam asked gently.

"Okay." Max shrugged.

"You're dad and your uncle were close?"

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, they were brothers. They used to hang out all the time when I was little."

"But not lately much?"

"No, it's not that. It's just..." Max hesitated, shifting in his seat. "We used to be neighbors when I was a kid, and we lived across town in this house. Uncle Roger lived next door, so he was over all the time."

Hannah nodded, though she couldn't help but feel concerned. His demeanor had slowly changed the more he told them about his childhood. It was almost as if he were scared.

"All good memories?" Dean questioned, raising his eyebrows. "Do you remember anything unusual? Something involving your father and your uncle maybe?"

Max stared at him, his eyes wide for a brief second before shaking his head. "Why do you ask?"

Dean shrugged, smiling affably. "Just a question."

"No, there was nothing," Max insisted, "We were totally normal. Happy."

Sam exchanged doubtful looks with her and Dean.

"You must be exhausted," Hannah said, breaking the silence. "Feel better, Max."

He nodded, and Hannah could feel his eyes on them as they walked out of his home. She glanced around outside, noticing that no one was around. Without much hesitation, Hannah took off her veil and shook her hair with her free hand.

"No one's family is totally normal and happy," Dean remarked as he went around to the driver's seat. "See when he was talking about his old house?"

"He sounded scared," Hannah said.

"Yeah, Max isn't telling us everything. I say we go find the old neighborhood and find out what life was _really_ like for the Millers," Dean proposed.

"Alright. While we change I'll find out the address of the Millers' old place," Sam decided, sliding into the passenger seat.

They drove back to the motel and changed out of their costumes. Hannah was slipping on her opaque black tights when she heard someone knock on the bathroom door so hard she nearly fell off the toilet seat.

"Would you hurry up!" demanded Dean.

"Well, since you were so rude about it, I think I'll keep taking my time," Hannah retorted and to prove her point, she started to hum a Fleetwood Mac song.

"We're gonna leave your ass if you don't come out right now!" he threatened.

Sighing, Hannah finished adjusting her tights and smoothed down her navy blue shirt dress before opening the bathroom door and stepping out. Dean was leaning against the wall near the door.

"Happy?" she asked, flailing her arms.

Dean stared at her for a moment before shaking his head and striding out of the room. Hannah rolled her eyes and quickly went over to the foot of her bed to put on her black ballet flats. She grinned at Sam who waited by the door for her.

"We got this, Sammy," Hannah said, bouncing passed him.

"I hope so," Sam said, giving her a small smile.

She returned it and hugged his arm as they made their way over to the Impala. The drive to the Miller's old neighborhood took close to thirty minutes. Sam spotted a middle aged man raking the leaves off his front lawn, and decided to talk to him about the Millers.

"Have you lived in the neighborhood very long?" Sam inquired after they got out of the car and greeted the man.

"Yeah, almost twenty years now. It's nice and quiet," the man replied then smiled. "Why, you looking to buy?"

"No, no, actually, we were wondering if you might recall a family that used to live right across the street I believe," Sam answered, glancing behind him.

"Yeah, the Millers. They had a little boy called Max," Dean added, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Yeah, I remember. The brother had the place next door." The man shifted on his feet, a concerned expression on his face. "So, uh, what's this about, is that poor kid okay?"

Sam glanced at Hannah and Dean, puzzled, before asking the man, "What do you mean?"

"Well, in my life I've never seen a child treated like that. I mean I'd hear Mr. Miller yelling and throwing things clear across the street," the man revealed, much to their surprise. "He was a _mean_ drunk. He used to beat the tar out of Max. Broke his arm two times that I know of."

Hannah gaped at him. "This was going on regularly?"

"Practically every day. In fact, that thug brother of his was just as likely to take a swing at the boy but the worst part was the stepmother," the man continued, "She'd just stand there, checked out, not lifting a finger to protect him. I must have called the police seven or eight times. Never did any good."

_Oh my god_, Hannah thought, shocked. She supposed she shouldn't have been completely shocked since no one what exactly went on behind closed doors.

"Now you said _stepmother_," Dean repeated, masking his surprise better than Hannah.

"I think his real mother died. Some sort of..." the man thought for a moment. "Accident. Car accident, I think."

The man paused, looking at Sam. Hannah followed his gaze, widening her eyes when she saw him pinching the bridge of his nose with a grimace on his face. She casted a worried look over at Dean.

"Are you okay there?" the man inquired.

"Um, yeah," Sam hissed, wincing in pain. He swayed a little as he moved, and didn't protest when Dean went over to help him.

"Thank you for your time," Hannah told the man, flashing a quick smile before going over to help Sam. He nearly collapsed onto the hood of the car, tremors going through his muscles. "Sam?"

Almost a minute passed before Sam finally opened his eyes, standing to his full height and breathing heavily. He swallowed thickly and told them they needed to hurry back to the Millers' house.

"What did you see?" Dean asked, pressing his foot on the gas pedal so hard it jerked Hannah forward in the backseat.

"Max is doing it," Sam said, frantic. "Everything I've been seeing, _he's _been doing it."

"You sure about this?" Dean questioned. He drove dangerously fast.

"Yeah, I _saw_ him," Sam stressed.

"How is he doing this?" Hannah wondered, unsure of whether to believe that Max could kill without moving a muscle.

"I don't know, telekinesis?" Sam guessed.

"What so he's psychic, a spoon bender?" Dean demanded, glancing at his brother.

"I didn't even realize it but this whole time he was there. He was outside the garage when his Dad died, he was in the apartment when his Uncle died. These visions, this whole time—I wasn't connecting to the Millers, I was connecting to _Max!_" Sam realized, more to himself than them. He looked up and looked back and forth at Hannah and Dean. "The thing is I don't get why, man. I guess—because we're so alike?"

Hannah immediately frowned while Dean scoffed. "What are you talking about? The dude's nothing like you," he said.

"Well. We both have psychic abilities, we both—"

"Both what? Sam, Max is a _monster;_ he's already killed two people, now he's gunning for a third."

"Well, with what he went through, the beatings, to want revenge on those people? I'm sorry, man, I hate to say it, but it's not that insane."

"It wouldn't be insane if it was in self defense," Hannah commented, bouncing her knee nervously. She had no clue how to stop a person with psychic powers, and feeling so helpless scared her. "But the way Max killed his dad and uncle was cruel."

"Hannah's right, and even if his family beat the dog shit out of him, that doesn't justify murdering your entire family!" Dean snapped, pulling over in front of the Millers' home.

"Dean," Sam warned.

"He's no different from anything else we've hunted, alright? We have to end him," Dean decided, turning off the car.

"Dean, we can't _kill _him," Hannah exclaimed, leaning forward.

"Then what? Hand him over to the cops and say 'Lock him up officer. He kills with the power of his mind'?" Dean demanded, turning to glare at him.

"No way. Forget it," Sam said, shaking his head. "Dean, he's a person. We can talk to him. Hey, _promise_ me you'll follow my lead on this one."

Dean paused, staring at him for a long time. Hannah fidgeted in her seat, biting her lip.

"Alright, fine," he relented. He reached over Sam to the glove compartment and took out his pistol. "But I'm not letting him hurt anybody else."

"Um, what are you guys doing?" Hannah called, watching as the boys rushed to the front door, bursting through it. She withheld a gasp, but forced herself to hurry after them. "Sorry to interrupt!" She said loudly, letting out an awkward laugh afterwards.

"Max, can we, uh, can we talk to you outside for just one second?" Sam asked.

Max stared at them suspiciously. "About what?"

Sam struggled to think of a plausible lie. "It's..." he fiddled with his hands. "It's private. I wouldn't want to bother your mother with it."

Hannah smiled at Ms. Miller. "We won't be long at all though, I promise."

A tense moment passed as Max looked back at his mom. He gave a shaky nod, and said, "Okay."

Turning around so Max couldn't see the anxious yet relieved smile on her face, Hannah walked with the boys towards the door. Dean reached for the door knob, and just as he tried to open it, the door closed abruptly. Hannah jumped when she heard the blinds to all the windows shutter shut.

"You're not priests!" Max exclaimed, backing away from them.

Dean drew out his pistol, but it flew from his hands and slid across the floor to Max's feet. He picked it up and pointed it at them. Hannah's vision of Max was immediately blocked by Dean's back.

"Max, what's going on?" Ms. Miller gasped, coming to a halt.

"Shut up!" he hissed.

"What are you _doing?_" she demanded.

"I said _shut up!_"

Hannah peeked from behind Dean's back to see Ms. Miller being flung backwards. She hit her head against the edge of the counter, knocking her out.

"Max, calm down," Sam started, raising his hands up.

"Who are you?" Max asked through grit teeth.

"We just want to talk," Sam replied steadily.

"Yeah right, that's why you bought _this_!" Max exclaimed, waving around the pistol in his hand.

"That was a mistake, alright? So was lying about who we were. But no more lying, Max, okay? Just _please_ hear me out."

"About what?" Max glanced between them, his voice angry and thick with emotion.

"I saw you do it. I saw you kill your dad and your uncle before it happened," Sam answered, his words rushed.

"_What?_"

"I'm having visions, Max. About _you_."

"You're crazy," Max told him.

"So what, you weren't gonna launch a knife at your stepmom?" Sam questioned then tapped his right eye, saying, "Right here?" He dropped his hand. "Is it that hard to believe, Max? Look what you can do. Max, I was drawn here, alright? I think I'm here to help you."

Tears threatened to slide out of his eyes, and Hannah felt a pang of sympathy for the young man as the arm that held Dean's pistol began to tremble. "_No one_ can help me," he said in a wavering voice.

"Let me try," Sam insisted, taking a tentative step towards him. "We'll just talk me and you. We'll get Dean, Hannah, and Alice out of here."

"No way," Dean said lowly. Hannah hit his back, and just as he looked behind him to glare at her, the chandelier above them began to shake.

"_Nobody _leaves this house!" Max snapped.

"And nobody has to," Hannah hastily told him, pushing past Dean to fully see him. She gave him a nervous smile. "We'll just go upstairs. Right, Dean?"

Dean's jaw tightened and said nothing, but his tense stance answered Hannah. She wanted to hit him. Why did he have to be so difficult? Couldn't he just listen to Sam for once?

"Look, Max. You're in charge here, alright, we all know that. No one's going to do anything that you don't want to do, but I'm talking five minutes here, man," Sam said, turning away from his scowling brother.

"Sam." Dean looked at him, indignant.

"Five minutes?" Max glanced at the unconscious woman in the kitchen. Suddenly the chandelier stopped shaking. "Go."

"Come on." Hannah started to walk pass Dean, but when she noticed him not moving, she tugged at his arm. "_Come on_."

Reluctantly, Dean followed her to the kitchen where they helped up Alice Miller and led her upstairs. After finding her bedroom, Hannah searched for the upstairs bathroom and retrieved a damp cloth for Alice's injury. The woman was sitting up when she returned, and muttered thanks when Hannah pressed it to Alice's bleeding forehead.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Dean hissed, no longer pacing in the room. "You know _exactly _what Max is capable of and yet, you leave him alone with _Sam?_"

"What the hell were _you _thinking?" Hannah snapped, visibly startling Dean. "You know Max is psychic and still you bring a gun. Guns don't kill psychics, okay? We're dealing with Professor Xavier here, not some regular guy."

Dean scoffed and continued pacing the room. Hannah took Alice's hand and let her hold the cloth to her forehead while she walked over to Dean. His scowl deepened once Hannah was in front of him.

"Look," she started, sighing. "I'm scared too, Dean, but what other options did we have? Max has a better chance of killing us than we do to him."

"Well, he won't," Dean asserted, fixing his eyes on her face.

Before she could reply, the door creaked open. Max stepped inside holding Dean's pistol. _No_, Hannah thought, frightened. Dean moved towards him, but stood no chance against Max and his abilities. He was thrown to the wall, and Hannah wanted to run to him, but she stayed close to Alice.

"Max!" Alice shrieked. Max raised the pistol, aiming it directly at Alice's forehead then let it go. The pistol floated in the air and the sound of it cocking made Hannah stiffen.

_No, no, no_.

Forcing her legs to move, Hannah stood in front of the trembling Alice.

"Stay back," warned Max, "This isn't about you."

"And now it is," Hannah replied, swallowing thickly. "You're not killing her without killing me."

Max thought for a moment then said, "Okay."

The doors suddenly burst open, and Hannah had never been happier to see Sam.

"_Don't, Max!_" Sam cried out. There was a tormented look in his eyes that unsettled Hannah. "Please, _please_, Max. We can help you, but _this_, what you're doing. It's... it's not the solution. It's not going to fix anything."

For a moment, Hannah wondered if Sam's words had gotten to the shaking, sobbing boy. Unexpectedly, Max relaxed and no longer had tears in his red-rimmed eyes.

"You're right," Max whispered.

Sam gave a relieved smile, but his smile vanished the second the pistol floating in mid-air swung around. The trigger pulled back, and the sound of a gunshot made Alice scream. Hannah stared, gaping at the bullet in between Max's eyes. She looked away at Sam, her heart aching from the absolute devastation on his face.

"Sam..." she breathed, reaching out for him.

With a shuddering breath, he said in a heartbreaking voice, "Someone call 911."

* * *

Since Dean was the less traumatized one out of them, he was the one who called 911.

Alice managed to make a convincing lie about how Hannah, Sam, and Dean were just family friends who came over when they heard Max threatening her with a gun. Everyone ignored the officer's questions about where Max found the pistol, and the three of them left the second the police told them it was fine for them to leave.

"If I'd just said something else. Gotten through to him somehow..." Sam mumbled, still dazed by earlier.

"Don't do that," Dean told him.

Sam looked up, crestfallen. "Do what?"

"Torture yourself. It wouldn't have mattered what you said, Max was too far gone," Dean answered as they approached the Impala.

"When I think about how he looked at me, man, right before. I should have done _something_," Sam continued, guilt plain on his face.

"Come on, man. You risked your life. I mean yeah, maybe if we had gotten there twenty years earlier," Dean surmised, standing on the driver's side of the car. He shot Hannah a dirty look from the opposite side of the car, his scowl deepening when she rolled her eyes at him.

She knew he wouldn't say anything right now, but there was no denying how pissed Dean was at her. Dean absolutely _hated _when Hannah did remotely anything dangerous—which she found stupid. They hunted _monsters _for a living so what did he expect? Hannah couldn't have just stood there and let Alice get killed, or even worse, let Dean himself take the bullet. She already went through that ordeal with him when he nearly died of a heart attack.

"Well, I'll tell you one thing. We're lucky we had Dad," Sam decided, surprising both her and Dean.

"Well, I never thought I'd hear you say that," Dean remarked, astounded.

"Well, it could have gone a whole other way after Mom," Sam contemplated, "A little more tequila and a little less demon hunting and we would have had Max's childhood. All things considered, we turned out okay thanks to him."

Sam slid in the passenger seat, with Hannah following suit shortly afterwards. When they got back to the motel, Dean offered to shower first, leaving Hannah and Sam alone. Hannah was going to pack her things since they decided to leave tonight when Sam touched her shoulder. Before she could say something, her face was crushed in his chest.

"Sammy." Her words were muffled in his shirt. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," he mumbled, his forehead resting on top of her head. "I saw you die, and... and I couldn't save you or Max..."

"Sam," she said again, this time firmer. "You tried, and no one can deny that. We were just there at the wrong time. If we showed up sooner then maybe, but it couldn't have been stopped. Do you understand that? Do you understand that it was _not _your fault?"

It was quiet, save for their breathing. Rarely did the boys seek out affection from Hannah, often on the receiving end of her hugs, but it was more likely that Sam would give her one, so it didn't surprise her at all at how long they stayed like that.

"Yeah, I think I do," Sam eventually replied, pulling away from her. "It's just..."

"You're scared, I know," Hannah murmured, tucking some hair behind her ear. "But you have your brother and me to help you figure out what's going on."

The bathroom door opened, and Dean stepped out dressed in only his boxers and a towel around his neck. Sam quickly went to shower next, and when they heard him turn on the shower a moment later, Dean wasted no time reminding Hannah of her earlier stint.

"You should have let me take the bullet," he huffed out as he stepped into his jeans and pulled them up. "Are you fucking crazy? You could have actually died."

"Well, I guess I am," Hannah said, sitting down on the edge of her bed. "You're mad because I decided to protect someone? When you would do the same thing?"

"It's different with you, okay! You can't be doing this shit."

"And why not? I'm a hunter too!"

"Because... because...!"

Dean angrily pulled his shirt over his head and broad shoulders, and shrugged on his open red shirt. Hannah waited patiently for his response, but was surprised when he sat down beside her on the edge of the bed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He ducked his head, groaning as he buried his face in his hands.

Hannah gently bumped his shoulder with her own. He lifted his head, tilting it so he'd look at her.

"I'm going to get hurt eventually," she murmured, lowering her head to his level. "That time with the vampire... I messed up, but I'll get better. I'll get so good that you won't even have to worry about me."

He raised his eyebrows at her declaration. Then he smiled, and Hannah could only smile back.

"I believe you," he said, dropping his hands from his face. "And it wasn't just you who messed up. I—"

Sam suddenly swung the bathroom door open, interrupting them. Dean abruptly stood up and started packing his things. Hannah wondered what he was going to say, but pushed back those thoughts and headed to go shower. She took longer than the boys and when she turned off the shower, she could hear their voices.

Toweling herself dry, Hannah listened as Sam voice his worries to Dean. He told him how the same demon that killed their mom killed Max's, and how it could be after the both of them. Dean didn't seem to believe the possibility that the demon wasn't targeting their moms but the boys themselves, but Hannah couldn't help but ponder it.

"When Max left me in that closet, with that big cabinet against the door..." Sam hesitated, "I moved it."

"Huh. You got a little more upper body strength than I gave you credit for."

"No man, I _moved_ it. Like, Max."

She stiffened, pausing as she put on her clothes. Goosebumps prickled her skin, and Hannah couldn't ignore the fear spreading throughout her. Max had scared her, only because he had been an abused, dangerous young man with abilities to move things with his mind. Knowing now that Sam could do the same thing...

_No_, Hannah thought, shaking her head. Sam wouldn't use his abilities to hurt anyone. He was a hunter after all. He saved people for a living.

"Oh." There was a sudden stillness outside. "Right."

"Yeah."

Hannah heard someone grab someone then Dean say, "Bend this."

"I just can't it on and off, Dean," Sam grumbled.

"Well, how'd you do it?"

"I don't know, I can't control it. I just... I saw you and Hannah die and it just came out of me, like a punch. You know like a freak adrenaline thing."

That was what he meant, when he said he had seen her die. Hannah just wanted to hug him now.

"Yeah, well, I'm sure it won't happen again," Dean replied, nonchalant.

"No. Why?"

"Cause you got one advantage Max didn't have."

"Dad? Because Dad's not here, Dean."

"No, dumbass, _me_," Dean answered then added uncouthly, "and Princess if she doesn't decide to live in that bathroom."

_Jerk_, Hannah thought, immediately frowning.

"As long as we're around, nothing bad is going to happen to you," he told Sam. Suddenly, something hard hit the door of the bathroom, and Hannah let out a startled shriek. "You still alive in there?"

Dry and fully dressed, Hannah stepped out of the bathroom and bent down to see what was thrown at the door. "You threw a _shoe_ at me?" Hannah asked, annoyed.

Dean shrugged. "Got you out of the bathroom, didn't it?" he asked then turned to Sam, adjusting the strap to his duffel bag on his shoulder. "Now then. I know what we need to do about your premonitions. I know where we have to go."

She paused, readying herself in throwing the shoe back at Dean.

"Where?" Sam questioned, curious.

"Vegas," Dean answered, his expression deadpan. He grinned at them.

Hannah threw the shoe at him.

"Admit it, it's a good idea!" Dean called after them as she and Sam left the room.


	15. The Benders

**A/N: **Enormous thanks to everyone who keeps reading and following this fic. It means a ton. Thank you _PrettyInPeach_, _Lt-Spork89_, _JenRiley16_, _MadaleineWinchester_, _TwoHeartedMarauder, Theia-The-Planet, bjq, Cobbler1998_, _Wordweaversdream_, _LadyoftheMorningStar_, _professionalemail101_, and two guests for the awesome reviews.

Enjoy and review this chapter!

**15.**

**The Benders**

Sitting in the driver's seat of the parked Impala, Hannah carefully applied a black stripe of eyeliner on the upper lid of her right eye. _Promiscuous _by Nelly Furtado played on the radio, and Hannah hummed along to it. For once, she could listen to something different from the classic rock Dean played on repeat. Sam and Dean were in the apartment nearby posing as sheriffs for a possible case. They couldn't find a third sheriff's jacket, so Hannah was stuck waiting in the car.

She leaned back slightly when she finished her eyeliner on both eyes, tilting her head as she inspected her work with the sun visor mirror. Hannah had a habit of doing things that normally took someone a short amount of time much longer, to the point that Dean had accused her of being a perfectionist.

"I'm not a perfectionist," Hannah said defensively. "I just don't half ass things."

"Said by every perfectionist," Sam retorted, for once taking his brother's side.

"Traitor," she muttered, earning a snort from the both of them.

Hannah was putting away her makeup when she noticed Dean and Sam approaching the car. She climbed in the backseat as Dean opened the driver's seat, shooting him a smirk when she caught the disgusted look on his face when he heard the radio.

"So, anything?" Hannah asked, settling in the backseat.

"Kid says he heard a monster and said monster pulled Mr. Jenkins underneath his car," Dean answered as he started the Impala. "But most importantly, we agreed that _Mothra vs. Godzilla _is better than the original."

"I prefer _King Kong vs. Godzilla_," Hannah confessed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"And here I thought you had good taste," Dean sighed, shaking his head. "Well, at least it's better than Sam's choice. I mean, he likes the _remake_—"

"Guys?" Sam cleared his throat. "I don't think you both realize what's actually important."

Hannah shared the same sheepish look as Dean, biting her lip to keep from having a giggle fit when she met his eyes in the rear view mirror.

"The kid said when Mr. Jenkins was pulled underneath his car, he heard a whining growl," Sam continued. "Any ideas on what it could be?"

"Hellhound?" Hannah guessed. "Wait—nevermind. Hellhounds would leave the body behind."

"Well, whatever it is, it left no trace of blood or any body parts," Sam added, skimming through John's journal. "We should change out of these costumes."

After driving back to the costume shop where they rented out the sheriff outfits, they drove over to the library to learn more about this missing person's report. Sam printed out a page before Dean suggested they head to a bar. Neither Sam or Hannah were fond of the idea of discussing a possible case in a rowdy bar, but Dean kept insisting and ended up driving them to Kugel's Keg anyway.

Dean ignored the glare Hannah shot him when she realized it was a biker bar.

Sam found a small table in the back of the bar, sitting himself down with the police article and John's journal. Hannah sat beside him and peered at the article laid flat on the small, circular table. She was so absorbed in the report that she nearly fell out of her stool when she felt someone's hand clap her back.

"You. Me. Darts." Dean took a swig of his beer before setting it down on the table.

"But—" Hannah gestured to John's journal and the police report.

"Go ahead," Sam said. She looked at him, surprised. "You're always researching. Just humor him."

Hesitantly, Hannah hopped off her stool and went over to the dartboard. She couldn't help but feel guilty for deserting Sam, but he didn't seem to mind.

"We're doing two out of three," Dean told her as he handed her a dart.

"And winner gets...?" Hannah inquired, inspecting her dart.

"I dunno. Got any ideas?" he asked, then frowned when Hannah began to grin. "Oh, I don't like the look on your face, Princess."

"Not your princess," Hannah immediately said, lowering the dart from her face. "Loser has to listen to whatever kind of music the winner likes."

His frown deepened, and Hannah wanted to laugh. Did he seriously hate pop music so much he didn't even want to risk losing at a simple game?

"Unless..." He looked at her, scowling at her amused expression. "You're afraid of losing to me."

Dean scoffed, affronted. "I'm not afraid of _anything_. In fact, you can go first."

"Not because you're a gentleman, right?" Hannah said in a mild tone.

She positioned herself in line of the dartboard and raised her dart. With a lazy toss, they watched as her dart sailed and hit the bullseye. She whooped, surprised yet elated at her impressive aim.

"What—I—_how_ the fuck did you do that?" Dean stammered, astonished.

She shrugged, beaming. "Luck?"

Flustered, Dean picked up a dart and threw it, groaning when it landed in the triple ring. Hannah flashed him a grin and held out her hand for another dart. Someone played_ Burnin' for You _by Blue Öyster Culton the jukebox and Hannah began to sway along with the song as she continued to toss her darts. Dean shook his head at her dancing, but smiled all the same.

"No, no," he said, when she beckoned him to dance with her. "You're just trying to distract me."

"I'd never!" Hannah exclaimed, reaching for his hands. "Don't you love this song?"

She swung their joined hands lightly, trying to make him dance along with her. Dean refused, though, and pulled away to focus on their game. Hannah rolled her eyes, but continued to dance. She bumped his hip with her own when he ended up winning their first round. They were in the middle of their second round when Sam called for their attention.

"So, local police have now ruled out foul play," Sam informed them. "Apparently, there are worse signs of a struggle."

"Well, they could be right, it could just be a kidnapping. Maybe this isn't our kind of gig," Dean responded, watching Hannah's dart sail the air, and hissing in annoyance when it hit the outer bullseye.

"You never think anything is our kind of gig," Hannah said, frowning at him. She nudged him, making him sway a little from side to side. "Your turn."

"Yeah, maybe not. Except for this—Dad marked the area, guys," Sam announced, interrupting their game. "Possible hunting grounds of a phantom attacker."

They glanced at each other before going to stand on either side of Sam to read John's journal. "Why would he even do that?" Dean wondered aloud.

"Well, he found a lot of local folklore about a dark figure that comes out at night. Grabs people, then vanishes," Sam answered, pointing to a passage. "He found this too—this county has more missing persons per capita than anywhere else in the state.

"That _is_ weird," Dean allowed, taking a long drink from his beer. "Don't phantom attackers usually snatch people from their beds? Jenkins was taken from a parking lot."

"Well, there are all kinds like the springhill jacks and phantom gassers," Hannah listed absently as she dug through her purse for a stick of bubblegum.

"They take people anywhere, anytime," Sam added. "Look, Dean, I don't know if this is our kind of gig either."

"Yeah, you're right. We should ask around more tomorrow," Dean agreed, much to Hannah's surprise. He normally liked being in charge, but she supposed the three and a half beers helped made Dean more pliable.

"I saw a motel about five miles back—" Sam told them, collecting his things.

Dean whirled, blinking a few times. "Whoa, whoa, easy. We haven't even finished our round," he said, gesturing to Hannah and the dartboard.

She touched his arm, and he looked down at her. "Sam's right. We should get an early start."

"But our round," Dean protested.

"Our round isn't more important than hunting down monsters, Dean," Hannah reminded him, letting go of his arm. She smiled, and his frown eased up then.

"You guys are such _old people_," he complained, but tossed his remaining darts back on the board in a resigned manner. "Alright. I'll meet you guys outside, and Princess? We're finishing this up tomorrow."

"Sure thing, Dean-o." Hannah blew a bubble out of her bubblegum. She jumped when Dean suddenly popped it with his forefinger. She laughed and grabbed Sam's arm. "Come on, Sammy."

They weaved through the crowded bar and made it outside, and Hannah could feel the cool air through her red ribbed knit sweater. She looked up at Sam, noticing the brooding expression on his face.

A few weeks had passed since the incident in Michigan, and while Sam still engaged in normal conversations with her and Dean, Hannah could see how much Max's death affected him. He had met someone who shared his abilities and whose mother died the _exact _same way as his and his brother's. There was no doubt in Hannah's mind that Sam felt guilty over Max's suicide.

"Do you think it's something serious?" Hannah asked him.

"Maybe," Sam murmured, approaching the Impala. "I mean, kidnapping _is _serious, but... we need more evidence to show it's, you know, our sort of thing."

"Yeah." Hannah leaned against the hood of the car. "How are you?"

"How am I?" Sam repeated, blinking. "Why? Do I look tired?"

"No. You just... you look sad."

"Sad?"

Hannah nodded. "I know things have been… not going your way, especially now with Max—" Sam winced at the mention of his name. "—but it's not your fault."

"Han…" Sam's expression was pained. "I killed possibly the _only _other person who's like me."

She tilted her head, frowning. "There could be more people like you. Knowing us, we'll probably run into them eventually, but… Don't beat yourself up, Sam."

Sam didn't seem too convinced. Something like metal being scratched made Hannah and Sam freeze. Pulling out his flashlight, Sam turned it on and shone it around them. He bent down and checked under a car near the Impala, letting out a startled shout when a cat hissed at him and ran off. Hannah stared. Did a _cat _just…? She couldn't suppress her giggles. Sam laughed too, and stood to his feet. Hannah suddenly stopped laughing when something reached out and grabbed Sam's ankles so hard he fell to the ground. It dragged him underneath the car, with Sam struggling against it.

"_Sam!"_ She dropped to her knees and grasped his outstretched hands, jerking him forward. Whatever was underneath the car was stronger, and pulled him with enough strength to yank Hannah along with Sam, slamming her forehead into the bumper of the car.

She let go of his hands then, an agonizing pain shooting from her forehead to throughout her body. Hannah forced herself to ignore it and tried to reach out for him again, but leaned back when something sharp swung at her hands. Staggering to her feet, Hannah rushed back to the bar and pushed passed several people before crashing into someone's solid chest.

"Whoa, where's the fire?" he asked, and Hannah's head snapped up, recognizing who he was. Dean immediately frowned at her. "Hannah, what happened?"

Hannah touched her forehead. _Blood_, she realized. "Sam's in trouble! We have to go _now!__"_

Dean followed her outside without question, checking under the car Hannah led him to but found nothing. They searched the parking lot wildly, but to no avail.

"What the fuck _happened?"_ Dean demanded, after five minutes.

"We were just standing outside and then we heard a noise and Sam looked under the car and it was just a cat! And then all of a sudden, something grabbed Sam and I tried to help him but... but..." Her voice began to tremble, and unbidden tears came to her eyes.

"Hey, it wasn't… Hannah, hey—look at me." She could barely see Dean through her blurred vision. "Just calm down, okay? Whatever took Sam, it was strong and would have taken you too if you hadn't found me. We're gonna find him, alright? So… so there's no need to cry."

His hands were on her shoulders, squeezing them tight to make sure she was listening. Hannah could only nod, her vision slowly clearing as she blinked back her tears. Dean pulled her close, holding her tight against his chest. It was nice being held. Hannah wished Sam didn't have to go missing for Dean to embrace her. She remembered the blood and tears on her face, and tried to wriggle herself out of his hold.

"I'm messing up your shirt," she mumbled, wiping her tears. Black mascara and eyeliner was smeared on the side of her hand. Did her makeup run too? God, this was not her night.

"I don't care," Dean said, shrugging. His face softened the longer he gazed at her. "We're gonna find him, okay? Sam's going to be fine."

She stared at him, startled by the gentleness in his voice. It was always strange when he wasn't teasing her. Hannah widened her eyes in surprise when Dean dropped his hand from her face to wrap his arm around her shoulders. He steered her over to the Impala, taking the journal off the hood and letting her climb in the passenger seat after unlocking it.

The drive was quiet, save for the radio playing gently in the background. Dean found the motel Sam was talking about five miles back, and asked for two queens when they reached the front desk. Hefting up her duffel bag, Hannah followed Dean to their room.

"So, what do we do now?" Hannah asked, when she finished showering.

"We head to the police station. I'll pose as a sheriff, saying he's my cousin. You can either be his girlfriend or his sister," Dean answered. He shot her grin. "Crying would be helpful. I'm sure the cops would help us out immediately."

Hannah chucked a pillow at him, and he laughed.

"Oh, don't get mad," he said, coming over to tousle her hair. Hannah ducked her head and tried to hit him across the stomach, but he caught her arm. "You get this look on your face like a scared baby deer and people automatically feel sorry and want to help you."

"You mean a fawn?" she questioned, wriggling her arm out of his grasp.

Dean scoffed and let go of her arm. "See, when you say shit like that, it makes people _not _want to help you out."

"But it's the correct term!" she exclaimed.

"Just cry and we'll find Sam, alright?" Dean said, heading to the bathroom to shower.

"Wait!" Hannah scrambled off the bed and stopped him from entering the bathroom. Shyly, she asked, "Can I ask you a question?"

He glanced down at her hand clutching his wrist. "Shoot."

"Do you think Sam's okay?"

His gaze softened, and he tugged at her hand still holding onto his wrist. "Sam's a big boy. He can take care of himself."

"But aren't you worried?" she asked, biting her lip.

Dean hesitated, and for a brief moment, she could see the troubled look in his green eyes.

"No," was his eventual response. "Get some rest, Princess. We need to wake up bright and early."

She nodded, and finally let go of his wrist. Her heart constricted at the thought of Sam, beaten and alone. Then she squared her shoulders and inhaled sharply. They would find him.

* * *

After flashing his fake ID, the receptionist directed Dean and Hannah to Deputy Kathleen Hudak, an older woman with fair eyes and auburn hair. She gestured for them to sit in her office as she inspected Dean's ID.

"So, what can I do for you, Officer Washington and...?" She looked at Hannah apologetically.

"Hannah," she supplied, smiling wanly. The woman smiled back.

"I'm working on a missing persons," Dean explained, then hastily added, "It's not the Jenkins case. No, it's actually our cousin. We were having a few last night at this bar down by the highway, and we haven't seen him since."

"Does your cousin have a drinking problem?" she asked, glancing between them.

"Sam? Two beers and he's doing karaoke," Dean quipped, earning a smile from Kathleen. "No, he wasn't drunk. Hannah, tell her what happened."

She could hardly sleep last night from worrying too much about Sam's whereabouts, whether what held him captive was hurting him, if he... Hannah stopped herself from continuing that thought. If she weren't so weak, then maybe she could have saved him.

Hannah inhaled deeply before describing last night. Flashes of the other night flooded her as she retold it. She didn't even notice her tears until Kathleen slid a box of tissues towards her. When her sniffling was silenced, Kathleen asked, "Alright, what's his name?"

"Winchester. Sam Winchester," Dean answered.

"Like the rifle?"

"Like the rifle."

The only sound were Kathleen's fingers going across the keyboard. Hannah noticed her eyebrows creasing as she read whatever was on her computer screen.

"Samuel Winchester. So, you both know that his brother, Dean Winchester, died in Saint Louis," she revealed, and Hannah tried to ignore the sudden perspiration on her skin. "And, uh, was suspected of _murder_."

A beat passed, until Hannah cleared her throat and Dean remembered to speak.

"Yeah, _Dean_. Kind of the black sheep of the family," he responded nonchalantly. "Handsome, though."

"He was… he was difficult," Hannah added, hoping she sounded casual. She flinched when Dean's elbow suddenly connected with her ribs.

"Well, Sam's not showing up in any current field reports," Kathleen told them.

"Oh, I already have a lead. I saw a surveillance camera by the highway," Dean said.

"The county traffic cam?" she asked.

"Right. Yeah. I'm thinking the camera picked up whatever took him," Dean continued.

"Or whoever," Hannah hastily added.

"Well, I have access to the traffic cam footage down at the county works department, but—well, anyhow, let's do this the right way." Kathleen stood from her desk and took out some paperwork from a filing cabinet. "Why don't you fill out a missing person's report and sit tight over here?"

"Officer, look, he's our family," Hannah pleaded, "you _have _to let us come with you."

"I'm sorry, I can't do that," Kathleen refused.

"Well, tell me something. Your county has its fair share of missing persons. Any of them come back?" Kathleen faltered at Dean's question. "Sam's _my_ responsibility, and he's coming back. _We're _bringing him back."

Hannah turned to stare at him, her heartbeat quickening from the determination in his voice, the steadfast look in his eyes, the clench of his jaw...

Kathleen sighed and leaned back, staring at them. "Fine," she relented, and Hannah had to restrain herself from letting out a whoop. "I'm on break in about two hours from now. How about I find some more info and we meet up later at the nearest park?"

"That sounds good," Dean agreed, relieved.

"Thank you _so _much," Hannah breathed, shaking Kathleen's hand.

They were barely outside of Kathleen's office when Dean jabbed her in the ribs with his fingers. "_Ow! _What was _that_ for?"

"I die in Saint Louis and the only good thing you have to say about me is that I'm _difficult__?"_ he hissed.

"I was joking!" she exclaimed, shoving him aside. "Do you _really_ think if you died I would say something so lame? Do you think I'd act like you're a stranger?"

Dean grumbled something, but Hannah didn't bother to ask him to repeat himself.

"Want to get something to eat?" she asked him. "I'm starving."

"You know, now that I think about it, I'm pretty hung—" A loud rumbling sound cut him off, and Dean closed his mouth shut, startled by his own noise.

"No need to yell, Dean," Hannah teased then, unable to stop herself, reached over to pat his belly. "There, there, we're going to get some food soon."

Dean slapped her hand away, and stalked off to the car. Hannah snickered as she hurried after him.

* * *

Lunch was a quiet affair consisting of burgers, French fries, and milkshakes. Normally, Dean would have found something to tease Hannah about, but with Sam absent, neither one of them could think of something to say without being harshly reminded Sam was missing.

After meeting up with Kathleen at the park where she showed them rather grainy pictures of a truck driving on the empty road, he and Hannah returned to the motel. Kathleen would pick up Dean after work to show him where the traffic cams got their pictures, yet refused for Hannah to join them, unwilling to get a "civilian" hurt.

"Do you remember that van that passed by us at the park?" Hannah asked from the bathroom.

"Black one?" Dean said, checking his messages on his phone. Nothing from Dad or Sam.

"It sounded like a whining growl, didn't it?" He could see Hannah brushing her brown hair methodically in front of the mirror. _Fucking perfectionist_, he thought. Dean debated texting his father. He probably wouldn't answer anyway.

Dean paused as he let what she said sink in, no longer fiddling with his phone. That kid from the motel yesterday had mentioned something sounding like a whining growl outside his apartment. So, whatever took Sam were just... people? Dean couldn't believe it.

"Huh." Dean snapped his phone shut, and sat up. "Sammy got taken down by a couple of humans?"

Hannah stopped brushing her hair to frown at him. "You say it like it's _his _fault."

He stood, snorting. "Well, _it is_. I mean, we hunt things that would make a grown man piss himself, and Sam, who's a giant remember, gets kidnapped by a couple damn humans."

"They're probably serial killers! What if he's in the hands of some Ted Bundy wannabe?" Hannah exclaimed then gasped, startling Dean. "Oh my God, Dean, can you imagine Sam in the hands of someone like _Ted Bundy? _We need to stop lallygagging and find him!"

"Princess—" Dean started lazily.

"_Don't _Princess me, Dean. Your brother's in danger, and yes, it isn't our typical job, but it's still Sam and he's probably scared and hurt and..." Hannah's voice begun to tremble, and Dean felt a sudden panic rise in him. No, crying was _not _good.

"Listen, I know Kathleen said you can't come along, okay, but fuck that," Dean said, going over to her in the bathroom. He was afraid of touching her, fearing she'd break and start sobbing at any moment. "You can drive my Baby and follow us, alright? Just don't cry again."

"You're letting me drive your car?" she asked, blinking up at him.

Her eyes glimmered, still wet with unshed tears, yet she smiled. It brightened her entire face, like a torch burning through the darkness. He swallowed thickly, his insides knotting and his head feeling weird, like he was underwater.

"Just this once," Dean said, turning away. He couldn't face her. Not when she looked at him like _that_. "Don't get used to it."

Hannah rolled her blue eyes, but continued to smile as she nodded. Dean returned her nod before grabbing his jacket and heading outside where he'd wait for Kathleen to arrive. She came two minutes later, and drove him over to the traffic cams.

They passed their third traffic cam when Kathleen spoke up. "Okay, the next traffic cam is fifty miles from here, and the pickup didn't pass that one, so…"

"So, it must have pulled off somewhere. I didn't see any other roads here," Dean decided.

"Well, a lot of these backwoods properties have their own private roads," Kathleen informed him.

"Great," Dean grumbled, looking out the window. He wondered if one of these backwoods properties had a couple of killers that somehow kidnapped Sam. Not that he'd admit it to Hannah, but he was worried. Despite hunting for the last past months, Sam was out of practice and could get himself seriously injured.

"So, Gregory." Dean looked up at the sound of her voice. "I ran your badge number. It's routine when we're working a case with state police. For accounting purposes and what have you."

"Mmm." Dean continued looking out the window.

"And, uh, they just got back to me. It says here your badge was stolen," she said, and Dean noticed she had pulled the car over to the side of the road. "And there's a picture of you."

_Shit_, was the only thing that Dean could think when she tilted her computer over so he could see that a heavy-set African-American man owned his ID.

"I lost some weight." Dean laughed nervously. "And I got that Michael Jackson skin disease..."

"Okay, would you step out of the car, please?" Kathleen unfastened her seatbelt.

"Look, look, look," Dean started, making her pause. "If you want to arrest me, that's fine. I'll cooperate, I swear. But first, please, let me find Sam."

"I don't even know who you are. Or if this _Sam_ person is missing."

"_Look_ into my eyes and tell me if I'm lying about this."

"Identity theft? You're impersonating an officer, and how do I know Hannah isn't in on this?"

"She's not," Dean quickly said. He looked down at his lap before looking back up imploringly. "Look, here's the thing. When we were young, I pretty much pulled him from a fire. And ever since then, I've felt responsible for him. Like it's my job to keep him safe. I'm just afraid if we don't find him fast—" He stopped abruptly, trying to keep the emotion from thickening in his voice. "_Please_. He's my family."

"I'm sorry. You've given me no choice. I have to take you in," Kathleen said firmly.

Hearing those words were like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of Dean. He was stupid for being so sloppy. Dread spread throughout him at the thought of Hannah going off alone to save his brother. The vampire hunt was still fresh in his mind, and he promised both himself and Bobby that he'd never let that happen again.

Kathleen then sighed, and Dean looked at her. "_After_ we find Sam Winchester."

She fastened her seatbelt, refusing to explain herself as Dean gaped at her, dumbfounded. He shook his head, refusing to dwell on it. All he knew was that he still had a chance to save his brother.

* * *

Twirling the keys to the Impala, Hannah hummed the beat to Blue Öyster Cult's _Burnin' for You_ as she drove to the coordinates Dean gave her. Once she neared the place, she pulled the Impala over, careful to keep it a distance from the police car and from the entrance of the private property. Making sure all the doors were locked, Hannah begun walking down the empty road over to where Kathleen's police car was parked. She frowned when she saw Dean standing by the driver's door, looking around anxiously.

"Dean?" she called, approaching him.

"Hannah! Come here quick," Dean hissed, gesturing wildly with one arm. "Got a bobby pin?"

She sensed the urgency in his voice, and nodded. Before he could ask for it, Hannah was already carefully sliding it out of her hair, feeling the released locks of hair cascade and frame the left side of her face. Crouching down, Hannah begun unlocking his handcuff. Dean pounded his foot into the ground impatiently, and when the handcuff clicked open, he motioned for her to roll underneath the police car.

Her breath hitched when she heard two male voices near them.

"I've never seen him so angry before," one said, sounding amused.

"Well, Pa never been followed by the police before," replied another, just as amused as the other man.

When they heard the engine run, Hannah and Dean hastily rolled from underneath it, staying on the ground until the car was out of sight. Standing up, Hannah dusted herself off while Dean glanced around. He led them down a road where they found an unkempt house and rundown barn. They headed towards the barn, with Dean slowly opening the door and stepping inside. Hannah glanced behind her in case someone caught them. She was horrified when they found no hay, but two giant iron cages.

"_Sam_," Hannah cried out. He was trapped within one of the cages, and immediately moved towards the door when he saw them. She ran over to the cage and clutched the bars separating them. "Your face…"

"Sam? Are you hurt?" Dean demanded, coming up beside her. Sam bore a purplish bruise on his left cheek. His face was pale and drawn from lack of sleep, but his smile could rival the moon's. He let out a breathless laugh when Dean slapped the bars. "Damn it's good to see you."

"How did you get out of the cuffs?" questioned a familiar voice. She and Dean whirled, only to see Kathleen sitting on the floor on the opposite cage. Her hair was out of its perfectly combed bun, and she sported a welt on her right cheek.

"I know a trick or two," Dean lied, flashing her a smile. He turned back to see how to unlock the cages, but frowned. "Oh, these locks look like they're gonna be a bitch."

"Well, there's some kind of automatic control right there," Sam said, pointing across the room. Dean went over to it while Hannah stayed. "Hannah, I'm okay."

"You had me so worried," she confessed, her heart stuttering in her chest as she struggled not to let a sob overwhelm her. "I'm sorry I couldn't—"

"Don't even worry about it," Sam dismissed, swallowing thickly. "I'm just glad they didn't take you. I mean, I thought for sure you had gotten knocked out after you hit your head."

"Thick skull." Hannah tapped her forehead where her cut had healed. Sam chuckled, and she smiled. "I'm glad you're not hurt. I was scared."

"Did you see them?" Dean questioned from the controls he worked on.

"Yeah. Dude, they're just people," Sam answered in disbelief.

"And they _jumped_ you? Must be getting a little rusty there, kiddo," Dean teased, making both Hannah and Sam glare at him.

"Dean," she admonished.

"What do they want?" he asked, ignoring her.

"I don't know. They let Jenkins go, but that was some sort of trap," Sam replied, his grip loosening on the bars. "It doesn't make any sense to me."

"Well, that's the point. You know, with our usual..." Dean thought for a substitute for monster, "_playmates_, there's rules, there's patterns. But with people, they're just crazy."

"You guys see anything else out there?" Sam questioned.

"About a dozen junk cars hidden out back," Hannah revealed, shifting on her feet. "I think when they take someone, they take their car too."

"Did you guys see a black Mustang out there?" Kathleen suddenly asked. "About ten years old?"

"Yeah, actually, I did," Dean answered, going over to Kathleen's cage. He asked if it was her brother's, and when she nodded, he gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry."

"Let's get you guys out of here, then we'll take care of those hillbillies," Hannah decided, feeling a sudden burst of energy and determination.

"This thing takes a key," Dean said, referring to the control panel. "Key?"

Sam shrugged, helpless. "I don't know."

Dean turned to Hannah, studying her face. "We better go find it," he said, much to her surprise. She thought he'd want her to stay with Sam.

"Hey." They paused at Sam's voice. "Be careful."

His brother said nothing, but Hannah felt her heart swell and she ran back over to Sam's cage, reaching between the bars to touch him. Sam could only smile, taking her hand in his.

"After today, I'm never leaving your side," she promised.

He let out an unexpected laugh, and Hannah squeezed his hand before rushing after Dean. Her resolve faltered slightly as they entered the basement of the sinister looking house, but Hannah wouldn't give up so easily.

It was pitch black inside the basement, and for a minute, Dean struggled to find his flashlight. Both blinked repeatedly when he accidentally flashed them in their eyes, but the light only served to heighten the eeriness of the basement, filled with jars of unsavory things.

"Yikes," Dean said, when his flashlight shone on a jar containing _something_ that Hannah thought resembled a battered brain. She shuddered and urged him to keep walking.

They neared the stairs, but paused when Dean found a wall of polaroid pictures. Each had grown men in war paint, grinning and holding up a _human _corpse like it was some prize deer they had caught and killed. Hannah felt disturbed the longer she viewed each picture.

"I'll say it again," Dean muttered, making Hannah look at him. "Demons I get. People are crazy."

"Agreed," Hannah whispered, and he flashed her a smirk. "Let's just hurry get the key and get out of here."

"Right." Dean walked ahead of her up the stairs, careful not to make the steps creak. Hannah had to be extra careful considering the two-inch heels she wore.

Music played as they reached the first floor, and Dean picked up a wooden pole leaning against the wall and continued over to the record player where they found a tray of keys. Hannah peaked inside the kitchen. Her body went rigid when she saw an older man butchering something. He made to turn, and Hannah pulled back, nearly bumping into Dean.

The floor creaked, and Hannah turned, alarmed to see a girl around eleven or twelve, unwashed and disheveled.

"Shh. It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you," Dean whispered, holding up his hands.

"I know." The girl pulled out a knife and struck him with it, pinning his jacket against the wall. "_Daddy!__"_

Heavy footsteps were heard coming from upstairs, and the man from the kitchen ran out, his hands bloody with whatever he was butchering. Hannah bent down and reached into her ankle boot where her silver knife was hidden. She stumbled forward when Dean shoved her out of the way when one of the men from upstairs barreled towards him.

The little girl screamed for her father while the other two men attacked Dean. The older man lunged for Hannah, and without thinking, she thrust her knife at his shoulder, only able to nick him before he slapped the knife out of her hand. His hand went to her throat, ramming her against the wall. Hannah kneed him in the gut, forcing him to release his hold on her throat. She pushed past him to retrieve her knife, but the man knocked her to the ground. His hands went around her throat, squeezing so hard that Hannah couldn't breathe. His grip wouldn't loosen, even as she clawed at his face.

It hurt. She needed to breathe. She needed air.

"Oh, my boys are gonna have fun with you," he said, giving her a smile that reminded her of a shark. Then slammed her head against the floor, and Hannah could see stars.

* * *

Her head pulsated with absolute pain. She kept her eyes closed until the pain receded, her eyelids feeling so heavy as she forced them open. Hannah slowly sat up and tried to move her arms, but someone had fastened a rope around her wrists, tight enough to chafe her skin.

Sitting up slowly, her vision blurred as she tried to look around. Once it cleared, Hannah realized she was in a bedroom. She checked frantically to see if she was still dressed, and could only sigh in relief when the men hadn't removed her clothes. Hannah stiffened when the door swung open. The youngest out of the three men stepped inside. He grinned, revealing a row of rotten teeth.

"Pa wants to see you," he explained, coming towards her. She scrambled further back on the bed, trying to get away from him, but he grasped her arm and hauled her to her feet. "Don't run from me."

He dragged her downstairs, where they had Dean tied to a chair in the living room. Blood trickled down his temple from the long cut on the right side of his face. He straightened in his chair when he saw her. The man holding Hannah pushed a chair next to Dean before shoving her in the seat.

"Move and I'll slit that pale throat of yours," he threatened, letting his knife stroke the column of her throat. "Mm, and I wouldn't want to."

Dean suddenly started thrashing in his chair.

"Ha! Look at him!" laughed the man, no longer pressing his knife to her skin. She cried out when he yanked at her hair. "Is she your woman? Don't want another man touching her, huh? Not that I blame ya... Not at all. Not with those perfect breasts or soft skin..." Hannah whimpered when he groped left breast. He laughed again when Dean snarled at him.

"Lee, leave the girl alone. You can have your fun with her later," upbraided the oldest man, who Hannah assumed was Pa. Lee reluctantly released her. "We have some fighters."

"Let us hunt him. Sure would be fun to hunt," insisted the other man, and there was something unhinged about him.

_Crazy. They're all crazy_, Hannah thought, trying not to hyperventilate.

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me," groaned Dean, "That's what this is about? You yahoos _hunt _people?"

Pa hunkered down, tilting his head as he considered Dean. "You ever killed before?"

Dean glanced at Hannah in disbelief.

"Well, that depends on what you mean," was his response, rolling his head back to Pa.

"I've hunted all my life. Just like my father, his before him. I've hunted deer and bear—I even got a cougar once," Pa told them proudly. "Oh boy, but the best hunt is human. Oh, there's nothin' like it. Holdin' their life in your hands. Seein' the fear in their eyes just before they go dark. Makes you feel powerful. _Alive_."

They needed something more than animals, something that could give them challenge, and what was a better challenge than a panther than human? It was practically _The Most Dangerous Game_ hillbilly edition. Hannah couldn't believe how disgusting this man was. He was a monster.

"You're a sick puppy," Dean commented.

"We give 'em a weapon. Give 'em a fightin' chance. It's kind of like our tradition passed down, father to son," continued Pa, standing up straight. "Of course, only one or two a year. Never enough to bring the law down, we never been that sloppy."

"Yeah, well, don't sell yourself short. You're plenty sloppy," remarked Dean.

"So, what, you with that pretty cop?" questioned Pa, then he leaned close. "Are _you _a cop?"

"If I tell you, you promise not to make me into an ashtray?" Dean responded, smirking at them.

"_Dean_," Hannah hissed. Why wasn't he taking this more seriously?

Pa leaned back and glanced at the other man, tilting his head over at Hannah. He marched over, about to hit her when Lee said, "Don't hit her face. I want her pretty."

The man grunted, and drove his fist into Hannah's stomach. She doubled over, swallowing her scream. Pain spread throughout her, and Hannah stamped her feet repeatedly. Blinking the tears out of her eyes, Hannah raised her head, her breathing slowing down.

"Only reason I don't let my boys take you right here and now is that there's somethin' I need to know," Pa said.

"Yeah? How about it's not nice to marry your sister?" snapped Dean.

"Tell me—any of the cops gonna come looking for either of you?" Pa demanded.

"Oh, eat me," grumbled Dean, then shook his head. "No, no, no, wait, wait, wait—you actually might."

"Dean," Hannah reproached. She was going to kill him herself after this.

"I might as well let Lee fuck your girl in front of you since you think this is funny," Pa threatened, yanking Hannah by the arm out of the chair. "She's young too. Perfect breeder for my boys."

"Do that and I _swear _I will fucking kill—" Dean started, raising his voice.

"Then pick the animal. The boy or the cop."

"No one's coming for us!" Dean shouted frantically.

"No, no, no, _don't!"_ Hannah cried out when the other man went over to the fireplace and stuck a fire iron in it, heating up the tool until the tip of it burned white hot. "_Don't!__"_ she screamed, when the man grabbed Dean's head and held him as he prodded Dean in the chest with the fire iron. Dean roared in pain, writhing against the ropes.

"You son of a bitch!" he screamed, when the man pulled back the fire iron. He stopped thrashing when the man placed the fire iron inches from his left eye.

"Next time, I'll have him take an eye," Pa threatened.

"Alright, the guy, the guy! Take the guy!" Dean shouted, and the fire iron was no longer near his eye.

"Lee, go do it. Don't let him out, though. Shoot him in the cage," Pa instructed, letting go of Hannah.

"Sure thing, Pa." Lee draped his arm around Hannah's waist and jerked her towards him. He dropped his head, and gave her one long lick down her throat. Bile rose in her throat. Lee howled in pain when Hannah kneed him between the knees. When he stopped moaning, he backhanded her across the face so hard she fell to the ground. Already, she could feel a welt form on her cheek.

"Fuckin' bitch," he grumbled on his way out.

"Lee, when you're done with the boy—shoot the bitch, too," Pa told him. "Better clean this mess up before any more cops come runnin' out here."

No one said anything until a gunshot was heard through the air. For a moment, Hannah couldn't breathe, couldn't think, but Dean's panic-stricken movements made her remember.

"You hurt my brother, you hurt Hannah again, I'll _kill_ you, I swear. I'll kill you all. _I will kill you all!" _Dean raged, wild with fury. It was hard to crawl with both her hands tied together, but she forced herself over to Dean's chair.

"You need to calm down," she murmured, wincing from the stinging in her cheek. "Sam's strong, he can take on one of them."

"Lee?" called Pa, looking out the front door. "_Lee!"_ There was silence, and Pa turned to his other children. "Jared, you come with me. Missy, you watch them now."

Missy went over to them, and raised her knife up to Dean's face. Jared took two rifles off the wall and he hurried to the barn with his father.

There was a stillness in the air, and Hannah decided that if she couldn't use her hands, she'd use her legs. In one quick movement, Hannah swung her legs at Missy, knocking her to the ground. Missy recovered faster, however, and stabbed Hannah in her right calf. She shrieked and kicked her away, screaming louder when the knife was yanked out of her calf.

Dean somehow managed to loosen the ropes around his wrists and quickly disarmed Missy. She was screaming and kicking as Dean carried her away and locked her in the nearest closet. He took Missy's knife and made quick work of cutting through Hannah's ropes. Her wrists her rubbed raw, and her leg throbbed with pain. She didn't waste time throwing her arms around his neck to hug him. For once, Dean didn't hesitate to wrap his own arms around her and bring her close. He held her so tight it almost hurt.

He pulled back to look at her. The fury on his face was frightening, and Hannah had to remind herself it wasn't directed at _her_.

"I won't let those fuckers touch you again," he promised, his rage unbridled. "I'll kill them if they do."

"I'll… hurt them if they touch you again," Hannah said, trying to find a substitute for kill. She touched his face gently, hoping he wouldn't wince under her touch. "Oh, I need to disinfect your cut and…"

"Disinfect my cut?" Dean repeated, then snorted out a laugh. The sound of it made butterflies flutter around in the pit of her stomach. It wasn't often that Dean would give her a sincere laugh, but when he did, it was beautiful. Her hands grew clammy, and she reluctantly pulled away, hating the quickening of her heartbeat or the stupid thoughts she had about Dean.

Both froze when they heard footsteps, but Hannah exhaled when it was Sam. Dean helped her to her feet, and caught her when she stumbled as she tried to walk.

"What the hell happened?" Sam asked, concerned.

"Nothing we can't handle, Sammy," Dean answered, giving him a cheerful grin. "We heard a gunshot. I'm guessing Lee missed?"

"He's currently taking a nap," Sam replied flatly, earning a bark of laughter from Dean. "Han, you alright?"

She flashed him a thumbs up, and he smiled.

"I probably need to hitch a ride on someone's back," Hannah added, giving Dean a sidelong glance.

"Hey, I just did WrestleMania with those yahoos, I think we _both _need to hitch a ride on someone's back," Dean said, stretching his joints.

Before she could beg Sam, he rolled his eyes and crouched down. Hannah smiled widely and climbed on his back, holding onto his broad shoulders when he stood to his full height. He and Dean walked out of the house where they found Kathleen leaving the barn.

"Where's the girl?" she asked once they were near.

"Locked her in the closet. Where's the dad?" Dean answered.

Kathleen paused then said stiffly, "Shot. Trying to escape."

Hannah was certain she was lying, and was certain Kathleen was aware they knew that too, but no one questioned her further.

They loitered around while Kathleen called in for backup. Hannah informed the boys where she parked the Impala, and both were relieved with the short walk they'd have to make.

"So, state police and the FBI are gonna be here within the hour. They're gonna want to talk to you guys. I suggest that you three are long gone by then," Kathleen told them.

"Thank you," Hannah said sincerely. Kathleen smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Listen, uh... I'm sorry about your brother," Dean said hesitantly.

"Thank you." Kathleen let out a shuddering breath, and Hannah could see tears glistening in her eyes. "It was really hard not knowing what happened to him. I thought it would be easier once I knew the truth, but it isn't really... Anyway, you three should go."

They nodded, and started their trek back to the car. It was quiet for a while until Dean spoke up, and said gruffly, "Never do that again."

Sam looked at him, puzzled. "Do what?"

"Go missing like that," he groused, scowling when Sam laughed.

"You were worried about me," Sam realized, grinning.

"All I'm saying is, you vanish like that again, I'm not looking for you," Dean said, refusing to meet Sam's eyes.

"Sure, you won't."

"I'm not."

He laughed while adjusting Hannah. "What about you, Han? Not gonna look for me if I go missing?"

"I will, only to yell at you not to do it again," Hannah answered, making him laugh again.

"You should have seen her, Sam. She was crying the entire time," Dean told him.

"Shut up," Hannah mumbled, pouting sullenly.

"Really?" Sam glanced over his shoulder at her. "Were you really crying for me?"

"At least _I _didn't get sidelined by a thirteen year old girl," Hannah huffed out.

"Oh, shut up, Princess," Dean said, his scowl deepening.

"You're getting rusty there, kiddo," Sam teased, and Hannah laughed lightly.

"Shut up," Dean said again, yet he laughed all the same.


	16. Shadow

**A/N: **I'd like to apologize for the long wait. I graduated from high school in June and have been completing my summer classes at college so I've been really busy with that. Also, this chapter was a bitch to write but here it is. Moving on, I'd like to thank everyone who has followed and favorited this fic. It's incredible how many of you enjoy my writing and OC. Shout out to _Cobbler1998, PrettyInPeach, nosserate, grapejuice101, bjq_, _applehead321_, _Cassie-D1_, _Toyanome Masuri,_ _JenRiley16_, _TwilightEclps, NightlyLexie_, _professionalemail101_, _LadyoftheMorningStar, Lt-Spork89_, and a guest for the great reviews.

Please enjoy and review this chapter!

**16.**

**Shadow**

Hannah fumbled her ringing cell phone out of her purse. She didn't want to step outside of the cool police station, enjoying the air conditioning more than she should, but when her phone began to ring, Hannah forced herself to step outside into the humid Chicago air and answer it.

"Yeah?" answered Hannah, shading her eyes from the harsh glare of the sun.

"_Find anything?_" asked Sam on the other line.

He and Dean were at the victim's apartment, posing as employees of an alarm system company. Dean hadn't been pleased with the costumes Sam rented and had wanted to question the police himself, but Hannah had told him it was a terrible idea. Despite "dying," Dean Winchester was still a criminal and Hannah refused for him to get arrested so she offered to investigate the police herself.

"Nothing we haven't read in the paper," Hannah replied, stifling a yawn. "Except for this one major thing."

"_Oh yeah? What's that?"_

"Meredith's heart was missing."

A beat passed before Sam said, stunned, "_Her_ _heart?_"

"Mm." Hannah hummed, squinting her eyes when she spotted an ice cream truck parked across the street. "What'd you guys find at her place?"

"Blood on the carpet, no signs of a break-in..." There was commotion on the other line, and Hannah listened as Sam yelled something at Dean before the phone was fumbled around.

"_You said her heart was missing?_" questioned another voice, this one gruffer.

"Officer Bird told me so himself, Dean," Hannah said as she ordered and paid for a cone of chocolate ice cream.

"_Officer Bird?_"

"I don't remember his name."

Dean snorted then yelled when Sam snatched the phone. "_Dean thinks it's a werewolf, but the lunar cycle isn't right. We have this really weird symbol taped on the floor, but we've got no clue what it is."_

Hannah thanked the man as she took her ice cream. "Take a picture and show me."

"_Don't worry. I already took one_," Sam said, "_are you eating something?_"

"Ice cream. It's so _hot _outside," she answered as she licked her melting ice cream. "What's the street name again? I can take the bus there."

"_No, no. We'll pick you up_."

"Okay, well, please hurry."

She snapped her phone shut and shoved it back in her purse while balancing her ice cream in her hand. Hannah groaned when her phone began to ring again. Her hand trembled when she saw who was calling. She shifted on her feet, hesitating. Finally, Hannah flipped open the phone.

"_Hannah?"_ His voice was startled, as if he couldn't believe she answered.

His voice struck her like a lightning bolt. It had been so long since she spoke to him. Hearing him say her name made her tremble.

"Hey…" Hannah said softly. "What's up, Warren?"

Warren didn't speak for so long she was afraid he hung up. Then he asked, "_How have you been?"_

"I'm fine," she replied, hoping he couldn't hear her heart breaking. "How are you?"

"_Stressed_," he admitted. "_I'm working full-time. Surgery's no joke, Hannah."_

"Congrats on your job," Hannah told him, and she meant it.

"_Where are you?" _

"Chicago."

"_Why? Don't you live in Sioux Falls?"_

There was honking, and Hannah whirled to see the Impala waiting in traffic. Her ice cream melting, so she tossed it into the nearest trashcan before rushing over to the car. She emptied her purse beside her to find some hand sanitizer, knowing Dean wouldn't appreciate her sticky fingers touching the interior of his car.

"I'm on a road trip with some friends," Hannah explained. She needed to hang up. "Listen, I need to go."

"_Hannah. I miss you_," he said.

She clutched the phone and hoped her voice wasn't wavering as she said, "I can't talk about this right now."

Her phone snapped shut before he could speak.

"Who the hell was that?" asked Dean.

"No one," Hannah lied, feeling her face warm as she thought of him. "Just someone I used to go to school with."

She could feel Sam and Dean's questioning eyes on her, but she ignored them. Hannah had no intention of discussing Warren—her ex-boyfriend—with Dean in the car. He always acted so... weird when she was around guys. When he heard that she began dating Ryan back in high school, he kept pestering her about him. Her father had been the same way, but those were fathers, so of course they'd be worried about their little girl's first boyfriend. Dean had no reason to ask these rather aggressive questions about Ryan. It only annoyed her more when Dean flat out told her that he thought her boyfriend was an idiot once he finished his interrogation.

Hannah supposed he was only being protective, but she never truly believed that he was _just _being protective. He never seemed so interested in her social life when she had been a teenager, often ignoring her whenever he and Sam visited. The only time Dean was ever really invested in her had been the time they traveled together. Just the two of them on their way to hunt a rumored vampire.

Her hands curled over the edge of the backseat, a wave of nausea hitting her as memories from the past violently replayed in her mind. She could _feel _that vampire's fangs puncturing her skin, piercing so deep Hannah had wondered if he had scraped her windpipe, being unable to scream for help. And even though that pain had been agonizing, it had been deserving, because Hannah would have _never _landed herself in that situation if she hadn't let that vampire manipulate her.

"You're looking pretty green back there, Princess," remarked Dean, snapping her out of that memory. "Need me to pull over? Cause I swear to God if you puke in my car—"

"I... I don't need to throw up," Hannah managed to say, swallowing thickly. "Sam?"

"Yeah?" Sam twisted in his seat, looking at her in concern.

"Show me that symbol?" Hannah asked, relieved to have a distraction.

* * *

The rest of the day was spent researching, with Dean investigating the bar their victim worked at while Hannah and Sam searched for any other deaths that resembled Meredith's. When they found one, they had made their way over to the bar and spotted Dean chatting—no _flirting_ with the dark-haired, big breasted bartender.

"Over there," Sam said, pointing to an empty table at the far end of the room. "Bring Dean over, won't you?"

Hannah saluted him, and he rolled his eyes before maneuvering through the crowd of buzzed-to-borderline-drunk bar goers. She made her way over to the bar and squeezed herself between Dean and another man. Touching his arm, Dean seemed almost surprised to see it was her.

"Doing anything later, stud?" she asked, letting her voice sound huskier.

His eyes widened by a fraction, yet it only lasted for a moment as his expression returned to the flirtatiousness it had before she sidled next to him.

"You if I'm lucky, Princess," he replied easily, and Hannah felt heat rush to her face. "See ya," he said to the bartender. As they walked over to Sam, Dean started to laugh. "'Stud' huh? Was that supposed to be sexy?"

"Maybe," Hannah responded, her voice lilted. "And what was that? 'You if I'm lucky, _Princess_.' If I didn't know you, I would have slapped you."

"Right, because you would _never _do a one night stand."

"What makes you say I wouldn't?"

Dean stopped, turning to stare at her incredulously. He let out a snort, and Hannah wanted to hit him.

"You're... you just couldn't handle a one night stand, is all," he said, snickering. "What's that saying? The one with the heart on your sleeve? Yeah, they're talking about _you, _Hannah. You wear your heart on your sleeve and anyone who fucks a stranger doesn't, so don't make me laugh again at the thought of sweet little Hannah screwing some guy she met a dive bar."

Hannah was certain she was blushing from sheer embarrassment. Shooting him a scowl, she said, "You're such an asshole sometimes, you know that?"

"I know. Doesn't mean I can't love myself."

He grinned, and Hannah shook her head in disgust.

"I talked to the bartender," Dean announced once they were finally with Sam.

"Did you get anything?" Sam inquired, then added, "Besides her number?"

"Dude, I'm a professional. I'm offended that you would think that," Dean scoffed.

Sam and Hannah exchanged knowing looks.

"All right, yeah," Dean admitted, unabashed. He pulled a napkin out from his pocket, showing them the number scrawled on it. Hannah was tempted to take it and crumple it up, but decided against it. She didn't need Dean thinking she was jealous—because she wasn't.

"You mind doing a little bit of thinking with your upstairs brain, Dean?" Sam requested, exasperated.

"Look, there's nothing to find out. I mean, Meredith worked here, she waited tables, and everyone here was her friend. Everybody said she was normal. She didn't do or say anything weird before she died," Dean told them, shoving the napkin back in his pocket. "So, what about that symbol? You guys find anything?"

"I'm onto something," Hannah murmured, playing with her hamsa amulet absentmindedly. "It isn't in John's journal or in the books we found in the library. We could probably figure it when we use your computer, Sam."

"What about the first victim? Before Meredith?" Dean questioned, glancing between them.

"Right. Yeah." Sam took out the newspaper clipping from John's journal and handed it to his brother. "His name was Ben Swardstrom. Last month he was found mutilated in his town house. Same deal—the door was locked; the alarm was on."

"Is there any connection between the two of them?"

"Not that I can tell—I mean, not yet, at least," Sam said. "Ben was a banker, Meredith was a waitress. They never met, never knew anyone in common. They were practically from different worlds."

"Sounds a lot like _Aladdin_," Hannah commented.

"I'm not even going to respond to that," Dean said, looking at her strangely.

"Didn't ask you to," Hannah replied. She noticed Sam staring at something, and tried to follow his line of vision. "Sam?"

Abruptly, Sam stood from his chair and began walking over to whatever he was staring at. Hannah watched him approach a girl sitting across the room, her sand blonde hair cut short. The clothes she wore were edgy, and her overall appearance didn't match the type of girl Hannah thought Sam would be into. Jessica had been tall and gorgeous, like a supermodel.

"Should we go over there?" Hannah inquired, looking at Dean, but he had left too. Sighing, she gathered John's journal and the newspaper clipping before meeting up with the boys.

When she neared, Hannah immediately froze. She looked normal up close, but there was something _off _about her. Her eyes were a deep shade of brown, so dark Hannah nearly mistaken them for black. She smelled heavily of perfume, almost as if to hide her natural scent. Then the way she was looking at Sam, it was almost... predatory.

_Who is she?_ Hannah wondered, masking her wariness of her.

It was silent for a moment, and it lingered for an uncomfortable amount of time until Dean elbowed Sam, startling him.

"Yeah, um, I'm sorry, Meg. This is, uh—this is my brother, Dean, and my friend, Hannah," he introduced sheepishly.

"_This _is Dean?" Meg asked, surprise plain on her face. Her eyes went to Hannah, and for the briefest of moments, there was a flash of... something familiar that made Hannah go rigid. "And that's Hannah?"

"So, you've heard of me?" Dean said, laying the charm on thick. Hannah tried not to roll her eyes. Honestly, she sometimes wondered if Dean would physically combust if he didn't hit on any attractive girls in his perimeter.

"Oh, yeah. I've heard of you." Meg turned to issue him a look, one so vile Hannah could feel Dean stiffen beside her. "Nice the way you treat your brother like baggage."

"Sorry?" Dean said the same time Hannah exclaimed, "What?"

"Why don't you let him do what he wants to do? Stop dragging him over God's green earth," snapped Meg, the contempt in her voice alarming both her and Dean. "And _you_," she continued, her expression accusing towards Hannah. "You think you're better than everyone and cry when someone says otherwise. Being a crybaby won't get you anywhere."

"Meg, it's alright," Sam cut in. He glanced at Dean and Hannah, clearly awkward over Meg's outburst.

"Are you thirsty? We should get something to drink," Hannah suddenly asked Dean. Before he could object, she grasped the sleeve to his jacket, she led him over to the bar. Once they were out of earshot, she turned to him. "Who the hell was that?"

"Think I have a fucking clue?" Dean said, glancing over at the twosome. "She's a total bitch if you ask me."

"She doesn't even _know _us," Hannah added, peeved. "I mean, sure, I cry _sometimes_—"

"Often I would say."

"—but how would she know that?" Hannah continued, biting her lip. She noticed Dean's expression sour and he nudged her when Sam made his way back to them. "I'm ready to go."

"So am I," Sam said, and the three of them shouldered their way out of the bar.

"So, mind telling us who the fuck was that?" Dean demanded the moment they were outside.

Sam frowned at them. "I don't really know. I only met her once," he answered. "Meeting up with her again? I don't know, guys, it's weird."

"And what was she saying? I treat you like luggage?" Dean said, affronted.

"Yeah, and that I think I'm better than everyone?" Hannah added, and Dean nodded at her, remembering.

"What? Were you bitching about us and talking shit to some chick?" Dean questioned. Sam rubbed the nape of his neck in embarrassment.

"Look, I'm sorry guys. It was when we had that huge fight when I was in that bus stop in Indiana," he explained, his voice swift and ready to move forward. "But that's not important, just listen—"

"Well, is there any truth to what she's saying?" Dean interrupted. There was a storm looming in his green eyes, one that Hannah was afraid to witness. "I mean, am I keeping you against your will, Sam?"

"No! Of course not!" Sam exclaimed, frustrated. "Now, would you guys _listen?_"

"_What?_" Dean groaned, glaring at him.

Sam inhaled sharply and looked as if he was contemplating how to word whatever it was he needed to say. "I think there's something strange going on here."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, tell me about it. She wasn't even that into me."

"She thought you were the worst," Hannah remarked, raising a brow at him. "Then again, her judgement was clouded by Sam's comments."

"_Guys_," Sam hissed, and they both turned to look at him. "I mean like _our_ kind of strange. Like, maybe even a lead."

Hannah's annoyance lessened and her mind instantly switched to professional mode. When it came to hunting, she tried to keep herself practical and collected, though that proved to be a more difficult task than hunting down the monster.

"Why do you say that?" she asked, tilting her head to look up at him.

"I met Meg weeks ago, _literally_ on the side of the road. And now, I run into her in some random Chicago bar? I mean, the same bar where a waitress was slaughtered by something supernatural?" Sam told them. "You don't think that's weird?"

"I don't know. Random coincidence." Dean shrugged. "It happens."

In other instances, Hannah would have agreed wholeheartedly with Dean, but after meeting Meg in this random bar, and hearing how Sam met her on the side of the road, she couldn't wrap her head around it just being a coincidence.

"Yeah, it happens, but not to us," Sam reminded. "Look, I could be wrong—"

"I don't think you are," Hannah murmured, and Sam shot her a grateful look.

"I'm just saying that there's something about this girl that I can't quite put my finger on," he continued, thoughtful.

"I bet you'd like to," Dean smirked, and Hannah rolled her eyes. "I mean, maybe she's not a suspect, maybe you've got a thing for her? Maybe you're thinking a little too much with your upstairs brain, huh?"

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. His expression turned serious. "Do me a favor? Can you guys check and see if there's really a Meg Masters from Andover, Massachusetts, and see if you can't dig anything up on that symbol on Meredith's floor."

"What are you gonna do?"

"I'm going to watch Meg."

Dean laughed. "Yeah, you are."

"I just want to see what she's doing," Sam said defensively. "Better safe than sorry."

"Alright, you little pervert," Dean snickered. Sam shot him a dirty look, making him laugh harder. "We're going, we're going. Come on, Princess."

"_Not _your princess," Hannah called after him. "Bye, Sam!"

* * *

She and Dean ended up stopping at the nearest diner for some late-night dinner. It was a nice place with a 50's vibe to it; black and white checkered floors, red booths, and Frank Sinatra playing from the jukebox. It was relatively empty when they stepped in, with only two people sitting in the booths.

"So, I'm curious to know why you're encouraging Sam to date a girl who hates our guts," Hannah spoke up when they were settled in their booth. "Well, hate is a strong word. _Dislike _is a better choice."

"Why shouldn't I encourage him?" Dean questioned. "He's more uptight than you."

"Shut up." Hannah slapped his hand, and he in return held it to keep it from hitting him. He released it a second after, and Hannah could feel her hand burn from his touch. "So, you think getting him laid will 'loosen him up'?"

"Sure." He shrugged, idly flipping the pages of his menu. "Everyone needs a little action."

Hannah set down her menu, settling on pancakes. "I don't know, Dean. His girlfriend recently died..."

"Yeah, but he can't brood over it forever," he pointed out, setting down his own menu. "That Meg girl's decent enough, and we're only here for a couple days. Let him get his dick wet while we're here."

She opened her mouth to reprimand him for speaking so vulgar in public, but their server had arrived and took their orders. Dean asked for a burger, fries, and coffee, while Hannah requested a short stack of pancakes, whip cream, and a cup of water.

"Pancakes?" Dean asked incredulously.

"I'm in the mood for it," she said defensively. "But you don't get it. Jessica was Sam's first love. You don't just get over something like that in a couple of months."

"And like you do?" Dean questioned, and her breathing stilled. "First loves are the most heartbreaking—I wouldn't know—but people get over it. Have you ever been in love, Princess?"

Hannah shifted in her seat. Her heart was racing. She thought of Warren, and she thought of the man sitting in front of her. The longer she remained silent, the longer Dean stared until his eyes widened in realization.

"You _have_," he breathed. He leaned forward, curiosity getting the better of him. "Who was the guy? Who broke your heart?"

"No one did," Hannah said, startled by his sudden eagerness.

"Was it that dumbass you dated in high school? Did he dump you?"

"Hey, Ryan was a nice guy."

"But did he dump you?"

"No," she answered. Dean widened his eyes. "_I _broke up with him."

Thankfully, Dean didn't press for reasons. Their server arrived shortly afterwards, yet their conversation hadn't been forgotten. "Someone broke your heart," Dean said between bites of his burger.

"No one did," she insisted as she cut her pancake into dainty squares. "What about you? Did Cassie break your heart?"

"Fuck you," Dean snapped.

Hannah smiled. She guessed she had her answer.

Neither said anything as they ate their food. Hannah only had four squares of pancakes left when she spoke up. "I was in love."

Dean paused and he snapped his head up. "Not anymore?" he asked, biting into a fry.

She'd been in love since she was fourteen, but that person never loved her back. Then she met Warren and Hannah supposed that love was more real since he loved her back, but she didn't love him. Not anymore. He deserved better.

"No," she said, returning to her plate.

* * *

Sam hadn't come back later that night, and Hannah hoped he hadn't gotten tangled up in something dangerous. Dean hoped he had gotten tangled up in _Meg_ when she had asked where he thought Sam went. She had rolled her eyes at his response. They had called him and informed him of what Hannah managed to find out on the ancient symbol.

Hannah felt a little annoyed with herself for not recognizing it immediately. It was a Zoroastrian, the sigil for a Daeva. They were savage demons, more animalistic than the regular demons they hunted. Her father dealt with one when she was twelve, and had come home with lacerations and torn, bloody clothes.

Besides their missing Winchester, Hannah felt they were missing something. _The police station_, she thought, remembering the receptionist who grudgingly revealed that Meredith's heart had been missing. Maybe she wouldn't be so reluctant to tell her anything if she had been a guy...

"You actually _want _me to go and flirt with someone?" Dean asked, surprised when Hannah suggested he sweet talk the female receptionist.

"For the last time _yes_," Hannah huffed out.

He looked up at the ceiling, grinning. "Oh, what a glorious day. Never would I have thought that pristine Hannah would encourage _me_ to get a little action—"

"I'm not asking you to sleep with her, you know."

"Hey, you never know. Maybe she likes a guy who's into murder cases."

Hannah rolled her eyes and pushed him out of the motel room, ignoring his continuing comments of how "nice" she was being. She was aware she acted _strict _when it came to the boys and their needs. Thankfully, Sam less concerned with getting laid than he was with hunting.

Thinking of those sort of things always made Hannah's cheeks warm and flush red. She wasn't as comfortable with the subject as Dean was. The thought of hands touching her and breaths ghosting over her skin made her insides coil and her body wired and restless. Then her mind would find a face to go with those hands and lips, one she didn't want to think about in _that _way.

_Stop_, she told herself. Hannah needed to stay focused, but there was nothing to focus on in their motel room. She walked into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, appraising her hair. Deciding it'd be better to style her hair than to let her mind wander, Hannah began splitting her hair into double French braids. She was nearly finished when she heard the door swing open. Hannah poked her head of the door and would have smiled if Sam hadn't looked so shaken.

"Where's Dean?" he asked.

"At the police station getting more info," she answered, stepping out of the bathroom. "Find anything on Meg?"

"Yeah, that _she's _summoning the Daeva," Sam replied, and Hannah's eyes widened. "Yeah. Crazy right?"

He told her how he followed Meg to a warehouse where he found her speaking to a bowl in a black altar, how he checked out the place after she left and found the Zoroastrian symbol drawn in blood in the middle of it. Hannah couldn't help but feel a smug sense of satisfaction as her distrust for Meg proved right.

It was silent for a moment as they let what Sam revealed sink in, until they heard the door unlock. Dean's grin waned when he saw them.

"Who died?" he asked.

* * *

"So, the first victim—the old man," Dean started. After retelling what he found out last night, they had moved over to the table by the window, where Dean proudly displayed the records he managed to get from Amy the receptionist. "He spent his whole life in Chicago, but he wasn't born here. Look where he was born."

Hannah and Sam peered over his shoulders at the records. "Lawrence, Kansas," they read in unison.

"Mm." Dean picked up the second file. "Meredith—the second victim. Turns out she was adopted, and guess where she's from."

"Holy shit," Sam breathed. He sat down across from his brother. "I mean, it is where the demon killed Mom. That's where everything started."

"Do you guys think Meg knows this demon?" Hannah inquired, still standing over Dean's shoulder.

"I think there's a definite possibility," Dean admitted.

"But I don't understand," Sam said quietly. "What's the significance of Lawrence? And how do these Daeva things fit in?"

Dean glanced up at Hannah, as if she had an answer, but she shrugged though not without issuing them a sympathetic look. She wasn't very useful when it came to Lawrence and the boys' past.

"Beats me," Dean eventually said, turning away from Hannah. "But I say we trash that black altar, grab Meg, and have ourselves a friendly little interrogation."

"Can an interrogation be friendly?" Hannah wondered.

"No, we can't," Sam decided. "We shouldn't tip her off. We've got to stake out that warehouse, and see who, or what, is showing up to meet her."

"I'll tell you one thing," Dean said heavily. "I don't think we should do this alone."

Hannah looked at him. She hadn't expected for him to call his dad. Would he even answer? If he didn't, it would only hurt him. Not that Dean ever told her how he felt about his missing father, but she remembered his tears when they had gone to Lawrence, how _hurt _he had been that his father didn't even seem to want to help them deal with something as traumatic as returning to the home their mother died in.

Part of her hoped he'd answer for Dean's sake, but another part of her felt John Winchester would only disappoint his sons once again.

* * *

"So, what are we taking?" Hannah asked, bouncing beside Sam as he propped open the false bottom of the trunk with a shotgun.

"Everything," he answered, rifling through the duffel bag before zipping it back up.

"Even the guns under the car?"

"What?" Sam looked at her, confused. Hannah crouched down and felt underneath the car until she found a pistol and pulled it off along with the tape. "He keeps _guns _taped under the car?"

"And under the seats. Oh, there's also a knife somewhere in the driver's seat," Hannah added, appraising the pistol in her hand. She noticed Sam gaping at her. "What?"

"How do you _know _this?" he asked.

"My dad does the same thing. I just assumed Dean does it too," she answered, "and he sleeps with a knife under his pillow so that helped my suspicions."

Sam snorted and collected the heavy bag before leading them back to the motel room. Hannah hid the pistol in the waistband of her jeans, hiding underneath her cream cardigan. She bumped him playfully, making him sway to the side. Sam grinned and bumped her, or at least that's what Hannah _thought _he was doing. The second he turned, his heavy duffel bag nearly knocked her down.

He set down the bag and helped steady her, apologizing all the same. Hannah brushed him off, laughing lightly and they continued walking back to their room. She was still giggling and bumping him when they stepped inside, only to stop when she heard Dean on the phone.

"Voicemail?" Hannah asked, biting her lip.

"Yeah," he sighed then turned around so his back no longer faced them. "Jesus, what'd you guys get?"

"Everything," she and Sam answered simultaneously. They shared a grin. "We weren't sure what to expect, so we just brought..." Sam gestured to the bag he set on the bed.

"Everything," Dean finished for him. He stood, went over to it, and began loading their guns. Hannah and Sam followed suit, and it was quiet for some time. Dean gave Hannah a perfunctory glance. "You're going a bit slow there."

"Can't rush perfection," Hannah replied as she finished loading a pistol. She aimed the gun between Dean's eyes and pretended to shoot. "Just call me Miss Annie Oakley."

Dean looked like he wasn't sure whether to laugh or roll his eyes at her.

"You guys nervous?" Sam asked them.

"No," was Dean's quick answer. "Why, are you?"

"No. No way," scoffed Sam.

_Boys_, thought Hannah, shaking her head. She didn't see any reason to act tough and badass around each other. They would have to be insane not to feel nervous before hunting down some monster. Or drunk. People were braver when intoxicated.

"God, could you imagine if we actually found that damn thing? That demon?" Sam asked, pulling Hannah out of her thoughts.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, alright?" Dean said, glancing up from his gun.

"I know. I'm just saying... what if we did? What if this whole thing was over tonight?" Sam questioned. He sighed, smiling at the thought. "Man, I'd sleep for a month. Go back to school. Just be a person again."

Dean looked up, wearing an unreadable expression on his face. "You want to go back to school?"

"Yeah, once we're done hunting the thing," Sam said earnestly. He nudged Hannah and she hissed at him when she almost dropped her bullets. "What are you doing after this, Han?"

"Going home. I'll probably find a job at the hospital. Help Daddy out."

Sam stared at his brother and frowned. "What are you going to do when it's all over?" he asked, directing his question to Dean.

"It's never going to _be _over," Dean muttered. "There's gonna be others. There's always gonna be something to hunt."

"There must be _something _you want for yourself—" Sam started to say.

"Yeah, I don't want you to leave the second this thing's over, Sam," Dean snapped, and the air stilled.

"Dude, what's your problem?" Sam asked as Dean walked over to the dresser, unable to look at them.

"Why do you think I drag you everywhere?" Dean asked, his voice anguished. "I mean, why do you think I came and got you at Stanford in the first place?"

Sam was puzzled. "Because Dad was in trouble. Cause you wanted to find the thing that killed Mom."

"Yeah, that, but it's more than that, man." Dean turned back to them and the shattered look on his face tugged at Hannah's heart. "You and me and Dad. I mean, I want us… I want us to be together again. I want us to be a _family_ again."

"Dean, we _are_ a family," Sam said softly. He moved closer to his brother. "I'd do anything for you. But things will _never_ be the way they were before."

"Could be," Dean protested weakly.

Back to the way things were. Hannah remembered the days the boys and John would stop by Sioux Falls, dirty and tired and hungry. They never settled in a town for more than a week and it bothered Sam to no end. He'd complain about it to Hannah in the junkyard, while their dads spoke in the library and Dean practiced repairing cars. Sam would humor her when she asked about the hunts they did, and only then would Dean talk to her, his eyes lighting up when he got to the part where they killed whatever creature they hunted.

She didn't mind some of those days, but she hated when they were gone for months. She hated how exhausted they were, how Sam and Dean would look at her with a mixture of curiosity and resentment when she'd tell them about the normal things she would do in school. It wasn't fair, so Hannah couldn't comprehend why Dean would want to subject him and Sam to that again.

"I don't want them to be. I'm not going to live this life forever," Sam insisted, not unkindly. "Dean, when this is all over, you're going to have to let me go my own way."

They went back to loading their guns in silence, this time it felt uncomfortable. Afterwards, Sam took the bag and went ahead of them to the car. Hannah held Dean back when he turned to follow.

"What?" he asked sullenly.

"Just..." Hannah shifted on her feet, trying not to lower her eyes from the weight of Dean's gaze. "I can be your family."

Dean regarded her for a moment then he nodded, a silent message passing between them, and left the motel room together.

* * *

Hannah wasn't keen on getting blood on her cream cardigan, so she left it in the Impala, leaving her in only a burgundy cami, jeans, and tall, dark riding boots. While it was humid in the daytime, it was relatively cool at night, and Hannah felt goosebumps prickle her bare arms.

They climbed through the elevator shaft, pausing when they found Meg's back facing them. She stood by the altar, speaking to no one quietly in a language Hannah didn't understand. Pulling themselves to the floor, Hannah and the boys moved silently behind some crates. The boys handled the pistols, while Hannah held a pistol loaded with silver bullets.

"Guys," rang Meg's voice. "Hiding is a bit _childish_, don't you think?"

_How...? _Hannah wondered, issuing the boys startled glances. Dean and Sam revealed themselves from their hiding places, keeping their shotguns aimed on the blonde girl.

"You can come out too, Hannah," Meg chirped, and Hannah stood, her pistol still raised. "Sam, I have to say, this puts a real crimp in our relationship."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Sam scoffed.

"So, where's the Daeva?" Hannah asked, glancing around.

"Around," she answered, with a complacent smile on her face. She turned to the boys. "You know, that shotgun's not gonna do much good."

"Oh, don't worry, sweetheart. The shotgun's not for the demon," Dean replied, returning her smirk.

Sam was tense where he stood. "So, who is it, Meg? Who's coming? Who are you waiting for?"

Meg looked behind them before focusing back on Sam. Her smile widened and she said, "You."

Something flashed around them, and Dean was thrown back over to the crates. _The Daevas_, Hannah realized. Sam tried to shoot Meg, but a Daeva knocked him to the ground and clawed at his cheek. Finding courage, Hannah tackled Meg around the waist and dragged her down. Before Hannah could do any damage, Meg kneed her in the gut and rolled away from her. Hannah cried out when she felt a Daeva scratch and tear at her arm down to her elbow. She tried to move, but then her head was slammed into the ground and she couldn't open her eyes.

When Hannah came to, her head spun and her arm throbbed. She felt someone shift beside her, and she rolled her head to see Dean tied to the same post as her. Dean tilted his head, giving her a view of the blood on the right side of his face. He seemed relieved that she was awake. Hannah rolled her head, searching for Sam when she found him tied to a nearby post. Meg sat before him, watching him.

"Hey, Sam," coughed Dean. "Don't take this the wrong way, but your girlfriend? She's a bitch."

Meg grinned at the remark.

"This, the whole thing, was a trap. Running into you at the bar, following you here, hearing what you had to say. It was all a set-up, wasn't it?" Sam said, his expression becoming one of disgust when Meg laughed lightly. "And that the victims that were from Lawrence?"

"It doesn't mean anything," Meg said, shrugging. "It was just to draw you in, that's all."

"So, you killed them for no reason." Hannah grimaced when her injured arm began to chafe against the ropes.

She turned away from Sam to smirk at Hannah. "Baby, I've killed a lot more for a lot less."

"You trapped us. Good for you. It's Miller time." Dean smiled through his wincing. "But why don't you kill us already?"

Hannah kicked Dean. They didn't need him giving Meg any less of a reason to shorten their lifespans.

"Not very quick on the uptake, are we?" Meg remarked derisively. "This trap _isn't_ for you."

"Dad," Sam realized, and Hannah widened her eyes. "It's a trap for Dad."

Much to her surprise, Dean let out a breathless laugh. "Oh, sweetheart," he sighed, and Meg looked at him. "You're dumber than you look cause' even if Dad was in town, which he is not, he wouldn't walk into something like this. He's too good."

"He _is_ pretty good. I'll give you that." Meg stood and walked over to them. Fear coiled inside Hannah when she straddled Dean. Would she slit his throat? "But you see, he has one weakness."

"What's that?" Dean made a face as Meg fiddled with the collar of his jacket.

"You," she replied, and he looked at her sharply. "He lets his guard down around his boys, lets his emotions cloud his judgment. I happen to know he is in town. And he'll come and try to save you. And then the Daevas will kill everybody—nice and slow and messy." Her dark eyes went to Hannah, considering her. "Maybe I'll keep you. You've got a nice figure and that deer-caught-in-the-headlights look you do so well that makes it oh so hard for people _not _to trust you."

Hannah frowned, bewildered by her comment.

"Well, I've got some news for you," Dean said, earning Meg's attention again. "It's gonna take a lot more than some... _shadow _to kill him."

"Oh, the Daevas are in the room here—they're invisible," Meg revealed. "Their shadows are just the only part you can see."

_How convenient for her_, Hannah thought, looking to catch their shadows. She inhaled sharply, cursing herself for not bringing the flare gun when that was the only thing able to stop them. That and sunlight, but it was the dead of the night.

"Why are you doing this, Meg?" Sam questioned, agitated. "What kind of deal you got worked out here, huh? And with who?"

"I'm doing this for the same reasons _you_ do what you do—loyalty, love," Meg answered. There was an edge to her voice. "Like the love you had for Mommy and Jess."

"Go to hell," Sam spat.

"Baby, I'm already there." Meg shot him a manic grin, and moved to sit on his lap, pressing her body against his. "Come on, Sam. There's no need to be nasty. I think we both know how you really feel about me." Hannah saw her lean close, her lips brushing against Sam's ear. "You know, I saw you watching me—changing in my apartment. Turned you on, didn't it?"

Dean rolled his eyes beside her. "Get a room, you two."

Meg ignored him and tugged at Sam's earlobe with her teeth. "I didn't mind. I liked that you were watching me," she husked.

Hannah shuddered, unable to believe the scene before her. She turned away to look at Dean, only to suppress a gasp when she found him cutting through his ropes with his knife. He slashed at the ropes speedily until his elbow hit the post, making him hiss in pain. They froze when Meg stopped whispering and kissing Sam.

She went over to them, took the knife from Dean, and tossed it across the room.

"Now, were you just trying to distract me while your brother cuts free?" Meg asked as she straddled Sam again.

"No," Sam assured her, shaking his head. "No, that's because I have a knife of my own."

The ropes loosened from Sam's body, and he took Meg by the shoulders, holding her still as he slammed his forehead into hers. She fell backwards while he touched his head, groaning.

"Sam, the altar!" Hannah exclaimed.

Forcing himself up, Sam staggered over to the altar and knocked it over. Primal growls were heard and Hannah gasped when the Daevas took Meg and dragged her across the ground before flinging her through the window. Sam blocked Hannah's view of the destroyed window as he used Dean's knife to cut theirs.

Free from the ropes, Hannah stood and felt a stinging in her arm. She wandered over to the window, horrified when she saw Meg's body sprawled on the pavement, blood seeping out of her. A hand touched her shoulder, and Hannah looked up to find Dean peering over her.

"So, I guess the Daevas didn't like being bossed around," Sam remarked, turning away from the window.

"Yeah, I guess not," Hannah murmured, guilt filling her.

"Hey, Sam?" Dean called.

"Huh?"

"Next time you want to get laid, try and find a girl that's _not _so batshit crazy, huh?"

Dean clasped him on the shoulder, smiling, then started back to the elevator shaft. Sam looked at Hannah, disbelief coloring his features.

"Or not get laid. I heard abstinence is becoming popular," Hannah quipped. She shrugged, smiling a little at his slackened jaw, and followed Dean out

* * *

"Why didn't you just leave that stuff in the car?" Dean asked his brother.

"I said it before, and I'll say it again—better safe than sorry," Sam replied. He leaned against the wall as Dean unlocked their room door. "Han, you've got to let me fix that arm of yours before you do anything."

"I guess you're right," Hannah relented, moving her injured arm around. The stinging pain had numbed, but she needed her arm fixed before she healed the boys' injuries.

She walked behind Dean as he opened the door, and she felt his arm hold her back. Hannah peered around him, and was startled to find a man standing by their window.

"Hey!" Dean called, his stance changing to a more defensive one. Behind her, Sam flicked on the lights, and the man turned.

"John?" Hannah whispered the same time Dean and Sam breathed, "_Dad?_"

"Hey boys," John Winchester said, smiling.

Hannah moved aside so Sam could get a better look. She watched from the door, unsure of what to feel as Dean walked over to his father and embraced him fiercely. Happy, she decided. This was what Dean wanted. He wanted to find John, and John found them. When they pulled away, John glanced at Hannah uncertainly, but returned his focus on his other son.

"Hi, Sam," John said.

"Hey, Dad," Sam said softly. They didn't move to hug.

She faltered when John looked at her, and his eyes fell to her arm. Then he looked at his sons, the fondness receding from his face.

"Whose idea was it to bring along Bobby Singer's daughter?" he asked them.

"Mine," Dean answered, clearing his throat. "Listen, Dad, it was a trap. I didn't know, I'm sorry."

He nodded. "It's all right. I thought it might have been."

John went on to tell them he had showed up just as Meg was thrown out the window, that the demon was aware of his close presence. He planned not to exorcise it or send it back to hell but truly kill it. When they asked how he planned on doing it, John had grinned and said he was working on it.

"Listen, Sammy, last time we were together, we had one hell of a fight," John said, his voice thick with emotion. "It's good to see you again. It's been a long time."

"Too long," Sam agreed, much to everyone's surprise. It was an even bigger shock when Sam reached out for him and the two embraced.

Green eyes found hers across the room and Hannah looked to see joy plain on Dean's face. She offered him a smile and he returned it, his bigger. As they pulled away, Hannah heard a growl and suddenly John was thrown across the room, his body colliding with the cabinets. Sam hit the ground, and Hannah shrieked.

Hannah's shriek became a scream when a Daeva clawed at her stomach. She doubled over to keep it from ripping her to shreds, but she felt its talons scratch and scrape her arms. Her vision blurred from the tears swelling in her eyes. "_Sam!"_ she shouted. "_Get the flare gun!_"

She heard someone scrambling over to the duffel bag, and Sam's voice as he shouted, "_Shut your eyes!_" Hannah began to cough when smoke filled the room and cried out when someone wrapped put their arm underneath her legs and another on her back before hoisting her up and out of the room. When her vision cleared, Hannah's eyes widened when she saw it was Dean carrying her. More blood covered his face and neck, and she could hear his heart beat faster.

Dean noticed her staring, and he seemed startled. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" Hannah asked, her voice breathless and close to trembling.

He didn't answer, muttering something under his breath, and kept walking down the stairs. It wasn't until they were in the alley where they parked the Impala that Dean set her down, letting her lean against him and the car for support. Sam and John were close behind, the former carrying the duffel bag.

"All right, come on, we don't have much time," Sam said in a ragged voice. "As soon as the flare's out, they'll be back."

"Wait! Sam, _wait!_" Dean shouted, stepping away from Hannah. He turned to John with a pained expression on his face. "Dad, you can't come with us."

"What?" Hannah asked, shocked. After all these months searching for him, Dean decided it was best _not _to find him?

"What are you talking about?" Sam demanded.

"You three... you're beat to hell," John stated, his eyes lingering on Hannah's arms crossed over her stomach.

"We'll be fine. Hannah's a nurse," Dean said dismissively.

"Dean, we should stick _together_," Sam said, unable to comprehend his decision. "We'll go after those demons—"

"Sam! Listen to me! We almost got Dad _killed_ in there. Don't you understand?" Dean shouted, gesturing to John.

"Dean, is this what you want?" Hannah asked quietly. She looked up at him, only to realize too late that she didn't need him to answer. All she had to do was look at the despair on his face and find it.

"It isn't what I want. It's what's safe," Dean finally answered, swallowing thickly. "They're not gonna stop. They're gonna try again. They're gonna use us to get to him. I mean, Meg was right. Dad's vulnerable when he's with us. He's stronger without us around."

"Dean _no_." Sam turned to his father, and was close to tears. "After everything, after all the time we spent looking for you... _please_. I have to be a part of this fight."

John disagreed. "Sammy, this fight is just starting, and we all have a part to play," he said evenly. "For now, you've got to trust me, son. Okay? You've got to let me go."

He shared a look with his sons, his gaze remaining on Dean longer before walking over to his truck. They watched him go until Hannah pushed herself off the car and wrapped one arm around Sam's waist, pulling him close. He didn't seem to notice her, but eventually he hugged her back.

"Come on," Dean sighed, moving to the driver's seat. Sam helped Hannah inside the backseat and she touched his arm.

"Sit with me," she said.

Sam said nothing as he climbed in after her, and looked out the window when the car began to move. Hannah rested her head against his shoulder, letting him know she was there too.


	17. Hell House

**A/N: **Sorry for the late update. I have no excuses for that, just been lazy. If the next update takes as long as this one, it's because I've started school again and I'm sure a lot of you know how busy college can get.

Anyways, thank you to everyone for following and favoriting this fic. It means a ton. Special thanks to _grapejuice101, NightlyLexie,_ _PrettyInPeach_, _professionalemail101_, _bjq_, _JenRiley16_, _Lt-Spork89_, _nosserate, MaireMac_, _Kattybelle_, _LadyoftheMorningStar_, _The King in White_, _shika93_, and a guest for the reviews.

Please enjoy and review this chapter!

**17.**

**Hell House**

"Hasn't that lost its flavor yet?" Dean asked, glancing at her through the rear view mirror.

"No." Hannah blew air into the bubblegum she was chewing, watching it with mild interest as it got bigger. She popped it with her teeth and started the process over again.

She was lounging in the backseat of the Impala, her back slumped against the door on Dean's side. They'd been driving for hours to Richardson, hoping to find a job to occupy themselves as John Winchester chased after the demon that killed his wife. Dean had asked if she wanted to go home, but Hannah had declined. She wouldn't leave until it was dead. After all, Dean had asked for her help.

Hannah was blowing her fourth bubble when she noticed Dean slowly sticking a plastic spoon inside Sam's open mouth. She watched with disapproval, rolling her eyes when he took a picture of him. Sam jerked awake when Dean suddenly brought the volume up on the radio up, singing and air drumming to the song playing.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Sam reached over to turn down the volume.

"Ha ha, very funny," Sam said, leaning back with his arms crossed.

Dean laughed and apologized, but both Hannah and Sam knew he wasn't in the least sorry. "Not a lot of scenery here in East Texas, kind of got to make your own."

Sam wasn't amused. "Man, we're not _kids_ anymore, Dean. We're not going to start that crap up again."

"Start what?" Hannah asked, curious. She sat up and leaned forward in the space between the driver and passenger seat.

"Prank stuff," Sam answered her tersely. "It's _stupid_ and it _always _escalates."

"Aw, what's the matter, Sammy, scared you're going to get a little Nair in your shampoo again?" Dean asked, laughing.

Hannah issued him a look of distaste. "You put _hair removal _in Sam's shampoo?" she asked, alarmed.

"Don't act so scandalized, Princess. It's not like his hair didn't grow back," Dean replied, waving a dismissive hand.

"Just remember, _you _started it," Sam grumbled. He looked out the window. "Where are we anyway?"

"A few hours outside of Richardson," Dean answered. He glanced at her. "Give me the low down again, Hannah."

Hannah searched for the paper in the backseat, and found it on the floor. Smoothing the crumbled paper, she scanned the article before delving in. "About a month or two ago, this group of teenagers goes poking around in this local haunted house."

"Haunted by what?" Dean asked.

"A misogynistic spirit if you ask me," she answered.

"Legend goes, it takes girls and strings them up in the rafters," Sam added, having read the article already.

"Anyway, these teenagers see this dead girl hanging in the cellar," Hannah continued, "but interestingly enough, by the time the cops get there the body's gone. So, the cops are saying the teenagers were just pranking them."

Dean absorbed this information quickly. "Maybe the cops are right."

"Maybe, but I read a couple of the kids' firsthand accounts. They seemed pretty sincere," Sam said.

"_Where_ exactly did you read these accounts?" Hannah wondered.

"Well, I knew we were going to be passing through Texas. So, um, last night, I surfed some local..." Sam hesitated, sheepish. "Paranormal websites. And I found one."

"And what's it called?" Dean asked him.

Sam fidgeted in the passenger seat. "Hellshoundlair dot com," he mumbled.

"Let me guess, streaming live out of Mom's basement," Dean joked.

"Yeah, probably," Sam laughed.

"Yeah. Most of those websites wouldn't know a ghost if it bit 'em in the persqueeter," Dean remarked. Hannah slapped his shoulder, offended by the ugly word.

"Look. We let Dad take off—which was a mistake, by the way—and now we don't know where the hell he is, so meantime we have to find ourselves something to hunt. There's no harm checking this thing out," Sam told him.

"Alright." Dean's voice was a low rumble. "So where do we find these kids?"

Hannah thought for a moment then smiled. "I think I may have an idea."

* * *

They ended up talking to three different people at Rodeo Drive, the typical small town teen hangout. Each gave different descriptions of the place and the girl they found, but they all had the same answer for one thing: Craig took them to this supposedly haunted house.

Craig worked at a record store, so the next morning they went there to investigate.

It was easy to convince him that they were reporters for the _Dallas Morning News_, and even easier to convince him to tell them the story of the Hell House.

In the 1930s, a farmer by the name of Mordechai Murdoch lived in a house with his six daughters. His crops began to fail, leading to him losing his money and having no means of feeding his children. Mordechai decided that it would be kinder to kill his daughters himself than let them starve to death, so he hung them up by the rafters. Then when he finished, he turned around and hung himself. Supposedly, his spirit was trapped in the house forever, stringing up any girl who entered the Hell House.

Dean was—of course—skeptical of the Hell House, but then again, Dean was _always _skeptical about things. Nonetheless, he drove them to the Hell House to check it out.

"You sure you don't want to stay in the car?" Dean suddenly asked her.

"Why would I do that?" Hannah frowned.

"Because Murdoch might string you up."

For a moment, Hannah thought he was serious, but then she noticed the corner of his mouth threaten to curve up, and realized he was only joking. Rolling her eyes, she pushed past him and towards the abandoned house. She heard him laugh behind her.

She wandered around the house, checking to see if there was anything out of the ordinary, but found nothing. Among the gloom and dead grass, she found a lone daisy. Hannah plucked it from the ground and tucked it behind her ear before returning to the boys. Dean had the EMF out, its sounds the only thing heard in the deserted area.

"What's wrong with it?" Sam asked, frowning at the noisy EMF.

Dean gestured to the power lines nearby. "I think that thing's still got some juice in it. It's screwing with all the readings."

"Guess we have to use our eyes this time, huh?" Hannah said, and Sam chuckled while Dean snorted. "Come on, let's go."

Inside the abandoned house, the furniture was rotten, the windows were shattered, and the walls were torn, greyed, and covered in graffiti. One of the symbols sprayed on the wall was that of the reverse cross while the other... Hannah frowned. She didn't recognize the other symbol.

"Looks like old man Murdoch was a bit of a tagger here in his time," Dean commented, after letting out a low whistle.

"And after his time too," Sam remarked, staring at the symbols. "That reverse cross has been used by Satanists for centuries, but this sigil of sulfur didn't show up in San Francisco until the sixties."

Dean gave Sam a funny look. "That is _exactly_ why you never get laid."

Hannah shot him a disapproving look, but said nothing. Her attention was arrested by the same symbol she couldn't recognize the second she scanned the room. She moved towards it, taking in the semi-cross. It had a dot in the middle, and the bottom resembled a sickle. Hannah could identify many symbols after reading up on different cultures and religions, but this one was a total mystery.

"Hey, Sam, have you seen this one before?" she asked.

"No." Sam stood beside her, looking at the wall curiously.

"I have," voiced Dean, and Hannah felt his leather-covered arm brush against hers. "Somewhere..."

Sam reached to touch the symbol, and when his fingers dragged over it, red paint smeared the wall. "It's paint, and seems pretty fresh too."

She glanced at Dean, only for him to turn to look at her at the same time. Her breath hitched in her throat. He gazed at her, like he was waiting for her to speak. Heat rushed to her face and because Hannah was a chicken, she tore her eyes from his first. She felt him move away to the middle of the room, mentioning how the cops may have been right in their assessment.

The sound of something getting knocked over in another room made them pause. Wordlessly, they moved to either side of the door leading to a different room, with Hannah standing beside Dean. Silently counting to three, the boys shoved the door open and rushed inside the room, only to come to a halt when a glaring white light blinded them. Hannah hastily shielded her eyes with her hands, blinking repeatedly until her vision cleared.

"Oh, cut," someone huffed out. "It's just a couple of humans."

"What are you guys _doing _here?" asked another voice.

Hannah peeked through her fingers then lowered her hands when she saw the light had disappeared. In the room were two twenty-something year olds, each holding some sort of equipment. One had an unkempt look to him, with red hair, a beard, and glasses. The other one was clean shaven, with short black hair and dark eyes.

"What they hell are _you_ doing here?" Dean questioned.

"Uh, we belong here. We're professionals," the redhead answered, as if it were obvious.

"Professional what?" Dean demanded.

"Paranormal investigators." The redhead handed each of them a business card. "There you go, take a look at that."

"Oh, you've _got _to be kidding me," Dean muttered, and Hannah giggled when she read her card.

"Ed Zeddmore and Harry Spangler?" Hannah looked up from her card and at the 'professionals.' The dark-haired one motioned to himself as Harry then to the redhead as Ed, both regarding her with interest.

"Hellshoundlair dot com. You guys run that website," Sam said in disbelief.

"Yeah." Ed nodded, proud.

"Oh yeah, we're _huge_ fans," Dean said derisively as he passed by over to a table behind them. Hannah shot him a look. These 'investigators' were completely harmless, so she saw no reason to be mean to them.

"And, uh, we know who you guys are too," Ed continued, much to her surprise. She noticed the sharp look Dean and Sam gave Ed.

"Oh yeah? What?" Hannah inquired, looking at him innocently.

"Amateurs," Ed replied, in a strained voice. He abruptly turned away from her and Sam, and she wondered if Sam scared him. "Looking for ghosts and cheap thrills."

"So, if you guys don't mind, we're trying to conduct a serious scientific investigation here," added Harry.

"Yeah, what have you got so far?" Dean asked, humoring them.

Ed turned to his partner. "Harry, why don't you tell them about EMF?"

Sam seemed unable to help himself and tease them. "EMF?" he repeated in mock curiosity.

"Electromagnetic field?" Harry scoffed at Sam's lack of knowledge. "Spectral entities can cause energy fluctuations that can be read with an EMF detector. Like this bad boy right here."

Harry turned on his EMF, buzzing and being noisy like Dean's had near the power lines. Hannah caught the smirk Dean sent Sam.

"Whoa. Whoa. It's 2.8mg," Harry announced, glancing around the room.

"2.8. It's hot in here," Ed said, and Hannah tried not to giggle at their enthusiasm. Sam and Dean seemed to have a harder time suppressing their laughter.

"Wow," Sam said as Dean whistled.

"So, have you guys ever _seen _a ghost before or...?" Dean asked, glancing between Ed and Harry.

"Once. We were, uh, we were investigating this old house and we saw a vase fall right off the table—" Ed began.

"By _itself_," Harry interjected.

"—Well, we, we didn't actually _see_ it, we heard it," Ed continued, stammering. "And something like that... it, uh... it changes you."

Dean nodded then pushed himself off the table. "Yeah, I think I get the picture. We should go, let them get back to work."

"Yeah, you should," Ed agreed, the superiority in his tone not going unnoticed by her nor Dean. As they made to leave, Ed called Hannah out, "Ah, Miss, try not to come here alone at night."

Hannah paused by the doorway and opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out when she felt Dean's hand touch her shoulder. "Yeah, we wouldn't want Mordechai to string you up," Dean teased, and she made a face at him.

Pushing his hand off, Hannah turned back to the paranormal investigators. "I appreciate your concern," she told them, smiling. "Good luck, guys."

It wasn't until they were outside of the Hell House did Dean and Sam allow themselves to laugh freely. Hannah rolled her eyes at them and tried to get them to focus back on the case.

* * *

Spending time at the library was one of Hannah's favorite pastimes, though she supposed it was partly ingrained in her. Growing up, she was surrounded by books on almost every legend, culture, and religion, and if they didn't have a certain book, she'd tag along with her father to every bookstore in Sioux Falls to find it.

Dean didn't share her love for books, but Sam did, so whenever he came to visit, the two would trade and recommend books to one another. It was always a bonding thing for the them. Unfortunately, they weren't able to find any non-hunting books since they spent two hours researching Mordechai Murdoch.

They couldn't find a thing on Mordechai Murdoch, so they searched for the names nearest to that, which happened to be a Martin Murdoch who lived in that same house in the thirties. However, he only had sons, two of them, and no evidence of ever killing anyone. Dean even went to the police station, and found no missing persons matching the rather unclear description of the dead girl found by those teenagers.

"I say we find ourselves a bar and some beers, and leave the legends to the locals," Dean decided, shooting them a grin.

"Yeah, all right," Sam agreed, shrugging.

Hannah moved to climb in the backseat, but Sam stopped her. She gave him a questioning look, but he merely motioned to Dean who slid in the driver's seat and turned the key in the ignition. Spanish music blared from the radio, the music loud enough to awaken the dead, and Dean recoiled in his seat.

Sam threw his head back with laughter as Dean hastily turned off his radio. He glared at Sam, then at Hannah who immediately stopped giggling.

"You knew about this?" he demanded.

"No," Hannah answered, hopping into the backseat. "I don't condone this prank war of yours."

"That's all you got?" Dean asked Sam, who was still snickering. "That was _weak_."

"Your move," Sam replied, grinning.

Dean shook his head, and drove them to the nearest dive bar.

* * *

The bar Dean led them to was filled with men old enough to be her father and smarmy creeps whose eyes would linger on her chest longer than she'd like, so Hannah clung to Sam that night. He seemed surprised when she attached herself to his side, but after she mentioned the ratio of men to women inside the bar, he understood. Dean himself had disappeared, and the times Hannah had searched for him from her table, she found him hustling pool or flirting with some girls.

"I'm going outside," Sam announced, untangling himself from Hannah. "I need some air. You want to come or...?"

"No, that's okay. I'll just bother Dean," Hannah said, and Sam laughed lightly before weaving through the crowd.

She looped a lock of hair around her forefinger, playing with it idly as she glanced around the bar for the other Winchester. He ended up finding _her_, and took Sam's empty seat before anyone else could.

"Want some?" Dean offered her some of his beer. She scrunched up her nose and declined. "You're missing out."

"Beer tastes gross. I don't even know why you drink it," Hannah said, watching him down the bottle until there was not a drop left.

"I don't drink it for the taste," he told her, "I drink because it gets me buzzed."

"If you want to get drunk, you should drink vodka or something stronger," she suggested.

"I said _buzzed_, not drunk off my ass," he huffed out. Her face warmed when Dean began regarding her. "Those hell hound boys had total crushes on you."

"They did _not_," she laughed.

"It's true. The dork with glasses couldn't even look at you without blushing," Dean insisted, lazily spinning his beer bottle over the table.

"He was scared of Sam," Hannah countered, remembering how nervous the redhead had seemed.

Dean scoffed. "Oh, please."

"And what do you even know? You were behind them!"

"Still, though. He liked you, and I bet you were looking at him with those doe eyes."

"What else am I supposed to look at him with?" she questioned, laughing again.

"Not with _those _eyes," Dean retorted, and she scowled at him. "He probably found those big blues too much to look at."

He stared at her, and Hannah's scowl softened. She tried to ignore the thrumming of her heart, the sound pounding in her ears and drowning out the noise in the bar.

"So, what? He liked my eyes?" she asked, her breath getting caught in her throat.

His own eyes widened a bit, but then he shrugged and looked away. Part of her was glad he did, finding his stare overwhelming, but then another part of her, a tiny part of her the one that swooned at the chance of being alone with him, wanted him to keep looking at her with something other than mild annoyance or mischief.

"You've got nice eyes," Dean admitted, turning back to look at her face with that look, the same one that made her feel like she was fourteen years old all over again.

_So do you_, she wanted to say, but couldn't. His eyes were so green, a shade so vibrant it almost seemed out of this world. Then there were his eyelashes; long and dark. His eyes were prettier than most girls'. If Hannah didn't mind gazing into those eyes forever, she'd probably be jealous.

Then his eyes flickered lower, and she wondered if he was looking at the hamsa amulet he had given her years ago. "And a nice rack too. That's probably what he was staring at."

The butterflies in her stomach scattered as the spell was broken.

"Ugh, you're disgusting." Hannah hopped down from the bar stool, ready to join Sam outside.

"What?" Dean slung his arm over her shoulders and pulled her close. "Don't get mad. I'm just offering a guy's perspective here."

Hannah removed his arm from her shoulders primly. "Which I didn't ask for by the way."

"And anyway, can you blame him?" Dean stood in front of her, and spoke in a girlish voice, "'I'm Hannah, ooh, my sweaters just _keep_ shrinking.'"

She rolled her eyes and shoved past him, shaking her head in disgust when she heard his laughter as he trailed behind her.

* * *

The next morning, they found police parked outside the Hell House. After asking around, they found out a girl committed suicide inside the house, though they doubted it was suicide. So, later that night, they ended up crouching behind some bushes near the Hell House, trying to figure how to get inside without the police noticing them.

"I don't believe it," she heard Dean mutter. Her jaw slackened when she saw the guys from yesterday—Ed and Harry—whispering to one another as they approached the house from a distance. "I got an idea."

Dean stood from his crouching position and cupped his hands over his mouth then shouted,

"_Who ya gonna call?__"_ before ducking back behind the bushes.

"_Hey! You!"_ one of the cops yelled, pointing at Ed and Harry who froze in confusion. They ran back from the pair of cops pursuing them. Hannah and the boys took that as their cue to enter the Hell House.

Sam dropped the duffel to the floor and handed her and Dean flashlights and shotguns. Hannah felt the weight of her shotgun. Admittedly, she was more familiar with pistols than shotguns, but her father had made sure she practiced until she was well-acquainted with different firearms at thirteen so she knew how to protect herself.

"Where have I seen this symbol?" Dean wondered, frustrated. "It's _killing _me!"

"Come on," Sam urged, leading them towards the basement. "We don't have much time."

She ended up behind Dean as they descended to the basement, trying to keep her fingers from trembling. Cobwebs and dust covered the walls and shelves, but Hannah didn't find much symbols when she shone her flashlight around. She swallowed thickly when she spied the rafters where the girl from last night was hung.

"Hey, Sam," Dean called, and Hannah drifted back to them. She wrinkled her nose at the jar in Dean's hand, filled with red liquid that not even _she _knew was. "I dare you to take a swig of this."

"What the hell would I do that for?" Sam questioned, bewildered.

"... I _double _dare you."

_He's like a big kid_, thought Hannah, shaking her head as Dean grinned. She stiffened when she heard movement nearby. Dean put back the jar and the three of them approached the cabinet, with Sam stepping closer to it.

"Don't shoot me in the ass," Dean muttered to her, and she narrowed her eyes at him. One of these days, she would have to show him how much of a better shot she was than him and Sam combi—

Hannah squealed, fumbling with her flashlight and shotgun when rats ran out of the cabinet Sam opened. She hopped on her feet, avoiding the brown rodents skittering across the floor. Dean took a step back from the cabinet

"I fucking hate rats," Dean grumbled.

"Would you rather it be a ghost?" Sam questioned.

"Yes," was Dean's immediate reply.

Breathing in the quiet basement made Hannah's hopping cease and her body grow rigid. She whirled, only to see a giant of a man dressed in overalls and a cowboy hat wielding an axe standing before her. She gasped, and heard the boys turn around as the ghost raised his axe over his head.

Fear shot through her, but Hannah forced herself to leap out of the way as Mordechai Murdoch swung his axe at them. She heard a crash, but couldn't see what fell with her flashlight. She aimed her shotgun at the ghost. Pressing her finger on the trigger, Hannah watched the shells go through Murdoch's skull, but to her astonishment, it didn't slow him down.

Sam was frantic beside her, shooting at Murdoch's shoulder and chest, but nothing happened. "What the hell kind of spirit is immune to _rock salt?__"_ he demanded.

"I don't know!" Hannah exclaimed, landing another shell through Murdoch's skull with no change.

"Come on!" Dean shouted, motioning to the stairs. "_Come on!__"_

The stairs leading out of the basement was on the other side of the room. Hannah started to run, but came to a stumbling halt when Murdoch smashed the shelves full of jars with his axe. She felt someone's arm go over her middle and shove her back from the broken glass and the shelf falling. Murdoch raised his axe again, ready to strike Dean, but Sam managed to block his attack with his shotgun.

"Go! Get out of here!" Sam shouted, and Hannah helped Dean off the ground before urging him up the stairs.

Hannah reached to open the door as she and Dean ran towards it, but something heavy collided with them, and she shrieked when she, Dean, and Sam tumbled through the door and down the stairs. Her head felt dizzy, and her vision blurred when she was hauled to her feet.

"Get that damn thing out of my face!" Dean snapped, and as her vision cleared, Hannah could see Ed and Harry watching them.

"Go!" Sam shouted at them, his hand still gripped on her forearm. "Han, let's go!"

She still felt woozy, but ran with Sam back to the car. Dean nearly crashed his car into a bush as he tried to drive off before the police realized they'd been there.

"Holy shit," Dean breathed, finally on the road. "I take it back. I prefer the rats."

* * *

None of them could comprehend what happened. Hannah certainly couldn't, but when morning came, she found herself pacing around the room as Sam looked at Ed and Harry's website while Dean sat on his bed, writing on a notepad.

"This is ridiculous," Hannah exclaimed, breaking the silence. "None of that was supposed to happen!"

"This job's bugging you too?" asked Dean, setting down his notepad. "I thought the legend said Mordechai only goes after chicks."

"It does," answered Sam from his chair. He sat by the desk, still reading Mordechai's legend on his laptop.

"All right. Well, I mean that explains why he went after you and Hannah, but why me?" Dean complained.

"... Hilarious," Sam said flatly. "The legend also says he hung himself, but did you guys see those slit wrists?"

"Where did those slit wrists even _come from?__"_ Hannah demanded, no longer pacing. "And he had an axe! _An axe! _Ghosts are supposed to have the same patterns, not just change with their mood!"

"Princess, chill out," Dean said after a moment. "So, the mook keeps changing. We'll figure out how to gank the son of a bitch."

She felt a sheepish smile spread across her face, embarrassed over her outburst. How could she not be annoyed? Hannah had expected an easy hunt; shoot the ghost a couple times with rock salt then salt and burn the remains. She supposed it was her fault for going into a job expecting something. Her father had advised her before she left with Dean to Stanford to _never _expect anything from creatures. They were often unpredictable, no matter what the monster was.

"Someone added a new post to the Hellhound site," Sam told them. Hannah glanced at Dean before moving to peer at the laptop over Sam's shoulder. "Listen to this: 'they say Mordechai Murdoch was really a Satanist who chopped up his victims with an axe before slitting his own wrists. Now he's imprisoned in the house for eternity.'"

"Where the hell is this _going?__"_ he wondered.

"I don't know," Dean replied, hopping off the mattress, "but I think I might have just figured out where it all started."

* * *

It turned out that it was Craig and his cousin Dana that started the legend.

The symbol bugging Dean was actually Blue Öyster Cult's symbol, and the other symbols in the house were from Craig's cousin's theology book. It still didn't explain why there was a ghost-like creature in the house with an immunity to salt, but Hannah took it upon herself to research every symbol in the house. Thanks to the hellshoundlair site, they didn't need to go back to the Hell House.

There was one symbol that truly stood out, and Sam recognized it faster than she did. Hannah felt a twinge of jealousy over that. Typically, _she_ was the one who knew symbols, but it quickly disappeared and she cheerfully praised him on how fast he racked his brain. She felt a bit guilty when Sam smiled at the compliment.

Dean left them in the middle of their research to go buy something, so when he returned, Hannah had already showered and dressed in loose, blue and white thinly striped blouse knotted in the front, and white shorts. Texas had warm weather, so she thought it was appropriate to wear some of the new clothes she bought on the road.

"Hey," Dean said, when he returned. "Sam in the shower?"

Hannah made a noise that resembled something of a yes, busy primping in front of the mirror. She wanted to make sure her eyeliner hadn't smudged. Finding everything perfect, she whirled to properly greet Dean, only to frown in confusion when she caught him messing around with Sam's neat pile of clothes on the bed.

"What are you _doing?__"_ she asked, stepping towards him.

"Nothing." He blocked her view, but Hannah persisted. "_Nothing_."

"Is that—?" Hannah gaped at the itching powder in his hands.

"Hannah?" called Sam from the shower. "Is Dean there?"

"Yeah, I'm here," Dean answered, raising his voice. He turned to Hannah and hissed, "Say a word to Sam and you're next."

"Are you _threatening _me?" Hannah asked incredulously. "I'm not scared of you, Dean Winchester."

"You should be," he replied, still shaking itching powder into Sam's underwear. "I'm a foot taller than you. I can take you out."

"Hey, where were you?" Sam's voice cut through their argument.

"Oh, I went out," Dean told him easily.

She tried to take the packet from his hands, but he moved it from her reach. "_Stop that_._"_

What began as tug of war turned into a tussle that ended up with Hannah knocking Dean to the ground and trying to wrestle the packet out of his hands. Dean elbowed her in the ribcage, and Hannah yelped, causing him to pause in their scuffle. _He thinks I'm hurt_, she thought, but that was his mistake because she was only ticklish and was just about to take the packet out of his hands when the bathroom door opened.

"Um, what are you guys doing?" Sam questioned, standing over them with a confused look on his face.

"My ring fell," Dean explained swiftly. "We were looking for it."

"Were we?" Hannah asked, surprised.

"I'll get you a milkshake if you shut up," he growled, low enough so only she could hear. He adopted a merry expression and lifted his silver ring in the air so Sam could see. Hannah wondered when he slipped it off without them noticing. "Found it."

Sam stared at them for a moment longer before shaking his head. "You guys are weird."

"Whatever." Dean put his hands on her sides and promptly rolled her off his sturdy, muscular body. "Get dressed, will you? I wanna grab something to eat."

From the floor, Hannah could see Dean's legs move to the bathroom before closing it. Sitting up, she turned her back to Sam and waited until he had his clothes on to face him again. He helped her off the ground, still giving her a funny look, but then his expression turned into something of a grimace.

"You okay?" she asked tentatively.

"Fine," he dismissed, adjusting his jeans.

Dean strolled out a few minutes later, smiling. Sam glanced between them, still grimacing, before putting his laptop in its bag and leading them to the Impala. Hannah wrapped her forefinger around one of the belt loops on Dean's jeans, tugging him close until she gain his attention.

"You owe me a milkshake _and _a sundae," she muttered. He scowled at her, but didn't object.

She let go of his belt loop and moved to catch up with Sam.

* * *

"Dude, what is your _problem?" _Dean asked, watching his brother fidget on their way to their table. He ignored the pointed look Hannah shot him.

"Nothing. I'm fine," Sam insisted, setting up his laptop.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"So, why do we think it's a Tulpa again?" Dean inquired.

"There was this incident in Tibet in 1915 where a group of monks visualized a golem in their head," Hannah told him. She was disappointed they only stopped for coffee since Dean knew she wasn't a fan of it, but reminded herself that he owed her some treats when they would go out to eat later.

"They meditated on it so hard they bought the thing to life. Out of thin air," Sam added.

Dean was unimpressed. "So?"

"That was twenty monks. Imagine what ten thousand web surfers could do," Sam replied, shifting in his seat. "I mean, Craig starts the story about Mordechai, then it spreads, goes online. Now there are countless people all believing in the bastard."

"Wait, are you trying to tell me that just because people believe in Mordechai, he's real?" Dean questioned, disbelief coloring his tone. Sam shrugged, still shifting and grimacing. "People believe in Santa Claus—how come I'm not getting hooked up every Christmas?"

"Because you're a bad person," Hannah answered, and he glanced at her sharply. "Show him the Tibetan sigil, Sam."

Sam turned the laptop around so Dean could see. Hannah sat across from Dean, so she couldn't see the photo Sam was showing him. He explained to Dean that Craig must have spray painted the sigil out of the theology textbook he had, unaware of that it's been used for centuries, concentrating meditative thoughts.

"So, people are on the Hellhounds website, staring at the symbol, thinking about Mordechai..." Sam turned the laptop back to him. "It might be enough to bring a Tulpa to life."

"It would explain why he keeps changing," Dean allowed, watching Sam squirm.

"As people think different things, the legend changes and so does Mordechai," Hannah said, then added as an afterthought, "like a game of telephone!"

"That would explain why the rock salt didn't work," Sam murmured. "He's not a traditional spirit."

"So, why don't we just get this spirit sigil off...?" Dean trailed off when he noticed Hannah shaking her head.

"Can't. Once Tulpas are created, they take on a life of their own," she explained, and he groaned.

"How the hell are we supposed to kill this thing then?" he demanded.

Still squirming and fidgeting, Sam mentioned how Ed and Harry managed to record Mordechai and the video itself had quadrupled since it was posted. There was a scheming look in Dean's eyes and he suddenly rose out of his seat.

"Where are we going?" she asked him.

"We got to find a copy store," he answered.

"Man, I think I'm allergic to our soap or something," Sam complained as he put away his laptop. To Hannah's annoyance, Dean laughed as maneuvered through the tables. "_You _did this?"

Dean kept laughing, and Sam yelled after him. Hannah trailed behind, wondering if she'd have to put an end to this prank war of theirs. Thoughts of pranking left her once they reached the copy store, when Dean finally told them his plan to trick Ed and Harry into helping them out.

"They're dorks, so they'll say yes," he finished, waiting for the fake death certificate he made.

"They could say no," Sam pointed out.

"Then I'll kick their asses."

"_Or _we could have Hannah talk to them. They'll probably be more willing to talk to her."

"Not you too!" Hannah exclaimed. "Those guys do not have crushes on me!"

For once, Sam looked at his brother with something other than murderous intent. They both seemed amused, and she hated it.

"We're saving lives here, Han. Talking to some guys isn't a big deal if it means helping people," Sam coaxed.

"I mean, you're passably cute. You'll have those hell hound boys wrapped around your finger the minute you show them your doe eyes," Dean added. He winced when Sam elbowed him.

_Passably cute?_ Hannah thought, affronted.

Sam gave her a pleading look, complete with the puppy dog eyes that made Hannah's resolve weaken. "Come on, Han. Please?"

She tilted her head back and let out an exaggerated groan and eye roll, but agreed to the uncomfortable task. Sam had the decency to look grateful, while Dean merely looked sheepish.

When the death certificate was finished, Sam managed to find out where Ed and Harry lived. The "paranormal investigators" lived in a trailer park, or at least kept their equipment in a trailer since that was what they found under their names. The boys remained in the car while Hannah stepped out of the backseat, tugging at her shorts and headed over to one of the trailers.

Their voices were muffled, but discernible. Raising her fist, she knocked on the door and heard a yelp. A tremulous voice asked, "Who is it?"

"Um, it's Hannah from the Hell House," she said, shifting on her feet. The door swung open, and two heads stuck out. They gaped at her, surprise plain on their faces. "Hi."

"Hi," they breathed in unison. Clearing his throat, Ed asked, "Can we help you?"

"It's about the other night, when we saw Mordechai's spirit," Hannah explained, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "That freaked me out. I was hoping to talk to you guys about that since you guys are, well, paranormal investigators."

"A-And we are," Harry insisted, nodding his head vigorously.

"Where are your boyfriends?" Ed asked instead, suddenly suspicious. "Those guys got us busted last night, and _we_ spent the night in a holding cell."

"Boyfriends?" Hannah repeated, startled. "Those guys aren't my boyfriends. Look, we all know what's in that house, but now with your website, there are thousands of people hearing about Mordechai, and that means more will want to see it for themselves and more people could get hurt. You don't want people to get hurt, do you?"

Ed and Harry both widened their eyes and shook their heads. "No, of course not!" they both spluttered.

"I don't either," she said, biting her lip. "It would really, _really _mean a lot to me if you could shut your site down."

They froze at the suggestion, and Hannah feared she screwed up.

"Ed, maybe she's got a point, maybe—" Harry began.

"Nope," Ed decided.

"—No," Harry hastily said, shaking his head.

"You may be hot, but we aren't gonna just shut down our site because of that," Ed explained forcefully. "We have an obligation to our fans, to the _truth_."

"So, you won't?" Hannah asked, her voice small.

Harry seemed close to crumpling, while Ed faltered and sighed, saying, "Sorry, beautiful, but we can't."

"Oh, that's too bad," Hannah murmured, turning away. "I mean, Dean and Sam kept telling me you wouldn't help us, but I thought you would because you guys are good people. I was even going to tell you this thing about Mordechai, but since you won't help, I guess I should just go..."

She started to walk back to the Impala, and Ed and Harry promptly trailed after her, sputtering about Mordechai.

"Come on, guys," Hannah said to Dean and Sam. "You were right. They don't want to help."

"Told you," Dean said from the driver's seat.

"Wait, what thing about Mordechai?" Ed questioned, and she turned to see them standing behind her.

"Don't tell them, Han," Sam said, sticking his head out the window.

"But if they agree to shut down website, Sam—"

"They're not gonna do it," Dean interjected. "You said so yourself."

"No wait, wait, we'll do it. We'll do it," Ed suddenly exclaimed.

"Really?" Hannah gasped, and they nodded. "Aw, guys! I knew you would say yes! Oh, I could just hug you both right now!"

"I mean, if you insist," Ed said slyly, opening his arms. His arms fell to his sides when the doors opened, and Dean and Sam stepped out of the Impala.

Sam stepped up to the shorter men. "This is a _really_ big deal, alright? And it wasn't easy to dig up. So, _only _if we have your word that you'll shut down everything."

"Totally." Ed nodded eagerly.

Dean brushed up beside Hannah as he handed Ed and Harry the death certificate. Ed and Harry inspected it, furrowing their brows.

"It's a death certificate from the thirties," Sam told them. "We got it from the library. Now, according to the coroner, the actual cause of death was a self-inflicted gunshot wound."

"That's right, he didn't hang or cut himself," Dean added.

"He _shot _himself?" Ed said in disbelief.

"Yeah, with a forty-five pistol. To this day, they say he's terrified of them," Hannah informed them.

"Matter of fact they say if you shoot him with a forty-five loaded with these special wrought-iron rounds—it'll kill the son of a bitch," Dean continued.

Harry dashed back to his trailer, while Ed took his time heading back. Unsurprisingly, Dean and Sam began snickering as they climbed back inside the car. Hannah followed suit, pushing at Dean's shoulder and reminding him that he owed her some food.

* * *

Their booth at the restaurant was small, and since Sam brought his laptop along, Hannah had to sit beside Dean, so close that their thighs were practically glued together and their elbows continuously knocked into each other. Dean even accidentally touched her bare knee, startling her so much she jumped and knocked his resting hand underneath the table.

"I'm sorry!" she apologized, blushing from embarrassment. "I didn't mean to—crap, I'm sorry!"

"No, it was my bad," Dean said, gingerly touching his hand. He grinned, though, and added, "You've got fast reflexes. That's good."

Heat rushed to her face, and tried to ignore the warmth that spread across her knee from the brief weight of his calloused hand. The feeling got worse as they waited for their food, with Dean's arm going around her shoulders so she wouldn't break his hand again. It left her shoulders once their food arrived, but their elbows might have been bruised by the time they finished eating.

"Two beers and a strawberry milkshake for the lady," Dean told their waiter.

"Look at you being a gentleman," Sam said, smiling.

"Shut up." Dean motioned for Hannah to slide out of the booth. "I'm gonna take a leak."

Their drinks arrived before Dean returned, and Sam took that as his chance to put super glue all over Dean's beer. Hannah didn't even bother to admonish him about it. She felt bad about not telling him about the itching powder, but still felt a twinge of guilt for the pain Dean would receive once from the super glue.

Sam was suspicious over her silence. "You aren't going to tell him, are you?"

She shook her head as she sipped from her straw. Pleased, Sam leaned back and fiddled with his laptop when Dean returned, oblivious to his prank. He didn't touch his beer yet, and instead opted to tug at the string connected to the fisherman mounted on the wall. The fisherman's mouth opened to let out a short cackle. Amused, Dean kept doing it much to their annoyance.

"If you pull that string one more time I'm going to kill you," Sam threatened, stopping him mid-pull.

The two stared at each other for a moment then without hesitation, Dean pulled the string.

"Come on, man, you need more laughter in your life. You know, you're way too tense," Dean snickered, leaning back in the booth. Sam continued to glare at him, and Dean sighed. "They post it yet?"

Turning his laptop around, Hannah and Dean saw that Ed and Harry posted the information they gave them, calling them "reputable" resources.

"Alright, so how long do we wait?" Dean asked.

"Long enough for the new story to spread, and the legend to change, I'm assuming," Hannah answered before draining some of her milkshake.

"Right." Sam turned the laptop back around. "I figure by nightfall iron rounds will work on the sucker."

He lifted his beer, and Dean clinked his own with his. Hannah watched him take a swig of his beer before setting it down... yet his hand hadn't moved from the bottle. The confusion on his face was sort of cute, and so was the hearty laugh Sam released.

Realization dawned on Dean's face, and he stared at his laughing brother. "You didn't."

"Oh, I did," Sam said between laughs.

"You're getting this off me," Dean said to Hannah.

"Is that how you ask?" Hannah wondered, taking a sip of her milkshake. She ignored the glare he gave her, but perked up when she heard him grumble something. "Oh, what was that?"

Dean didn't repeat himself, at least not until they finished their drinks and paid for their meals. Bumping her lightly with his beer bottle, he asked quietly, "Can you get this off me?"

"Sure," she chirped. "No need to pout, Dean. I was going to help you anyway."

"I'm not pouting," he said petulantly.

"Of course you're not," Hannah agreed. Dean narrowed his eyes at her and grumbled about how someone shouldn't be so agreeable.

* * *

Distracting the police had been easy enough, so while they went off to investigate the fisherman Dean stole from the restaurant, Hannah and the boys entered the Hell House through the back.

"I barely have any skin left on my palm," complained Dean.

"I'm not touching that line with a ten foot pole," Sam muttered.

Dean paused in the doorway to flash his light in Sam's eyes before continuing to the next room. Hannah was positioned between them, which she knew was Dean's doing. While he never said it, he never seemed pleased to have her wander off alone. Hannah wasn't sure if she should have felt delighted or offended.

There was a closed door in the next room, and Hannah was certain their Tulpa was behind it. She pulled her pistol out from its holster on her right side.

"So, you guys think old Mordechai's home?" Dean asked them.

"I don't know," Sam admitted.

"Me either," a familiar voice piped.

Hannah whirled, pointing it directly at whoever spoke. She and the boys lowered their weapons when they saw it was only Ed and Harry, the former carrying a camera while the latter held up a flashlight.

"Are you two idiots? Are you _trying _to get yourselves killed?" Dean demanded.

"We're just trying to get a book and movie deal, okay," explained Ed.

"A _movie deal!__"_ Hannah exclaimed. "Do you two not realize how dangerous this situation is? You could get hurt, you could—!"

She abruptly stopped talking when she heard knives getting sharpened in the next room. Raising her guns, she turned back around and waited for the door to burst open.

"Oh shit," Harry whispered. He and Ed quickly huddled behind Hannah and the boys.

"Ah, guys?" Ed called out. "Do you want to... want to open that door for us?"

Dean glanced at them from over his shoulder, his face made of stone. "Why don't you?"

Before Ed could reply, the door opened so hard Hannah was afraid it would fly from its hinges. Yelling at the top of his lungs with an axe raised over his head was Mordechai. Hannah's ears rang when she and the boys fired at Mordechai, though she only shot him twice; one through the head and one through the heart.

His body disappeared into black mist, the last thing shimmering in the smoke of gunfire were his red eyes. They waited a moment, in case he reappeared, before Dean motioned for her and Sam to follow him into the other room.

A shriek caused Hannah to run back into the room where Harry laid on the floor next to his destroyed camera. She looked up at Ed, who stood there pale and paralyzed with fear. Dean bumped into her, and questioned, "Didn't you guys post that bullshit story we gave you?"

"Of course we did!"

"But then our server crashed!"

"So, it didn't take?" Dean asked, glancing between them. They hesitated, and he swore under his breath. "So, these guns don't work."

"What are we supposed to do now?" Hannah asked, dismayed over the news.

Her question never got answered, and Ed and Harry fled from the room. It didn't take long to hear screaming, so Sam ran after them. Hannah would have followed if Dean hadn't called her name. She found him in the kitchen with a bottle of kerosene.

"We're lighting this bitch up," he told her.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Hannah inquired, frowning.

"Got a better one?"

A beat passed before Hannah replied with a reluctant, "No."

She heard grunting then a gasp, and Hannah followed the sounds to see Sam pinned to the wall by Mordechai, getting choked him with the handle to his axe.

"_Hey!_" Hannah shouted, earning the Tulpa's attention. She shot him twice through the skull, and he disappeared into mist again, dropping Sam. "Sam, come on!"

He was touching his throat gingerly as he followed her to the living room where Dean was emptying his kerosene.

"Mordechai can't leave the house, we can't kill him." Dean lit up his lighter. "We improvise."

Dean turned the spray bottle in his hands away from them as he set the house afire with his lighter. The three of them escaped the burning home before the flames could touch them, running a far distance from it. From behind the bushes where they hid, Hannah could see Mordechai charging to the front of the door, only to remain there.

"That's your solution? Burn the whole damn place to the ground?" Sam demanded, breathing heavily.

"Well, nobody will go in anymore," Hannah offered, glancing back at the blazing house.

"I mean, look, Mordechai can't haunt a house if there's no house to haunt," Dean explained with shrug. "It's fast and dirty, but it works."

"Well, what if the legend changes again and Mordechai can leave the house?" Sam asked.

"Well..." Dean looked at Hannah before turning back to Sam. "Well then we'll just have to come back."

It was silent for a while as they watched the Hell House burn to the ground.

"Kind of makes you wonder..." Hannah looked up at Sam. "Of all the things we hunted, how many existed just because people believed in them."

Neither she or Dean had an answer for him, but she pondered his words on the way back to the motel.

* * *

The next day before they left Richardson, Hannah insisted they check on Ed and Harry. "Just to see if they made it out okay," she had said, when they gave her questioning looks.

She and the boys ended up lounging on a picnic table by Ed and Harry's trailer, she on her back on the actual table while Sam sat on the bench and Dean leaning on the edge of the table, his back near Hannah's head. They heard from their neighbors that the boys had gone grocery shopping. Hannah sat up and climbed down from the table when she heard their voices.

"Gentlemen," Ed greeted. He smiled at her, and she couldn't help but feel annoyed that he had a crush on her like Sam and Dean said. "Milady."

"Hey guys," Sam said back.

"Should we tell them?" Harry asked his partner, in a surreptitious tone.

"Might as well, you know, they're going to read about it in the trades," Ed replied pompously. The five of them walked over to Ed and Harry's—rather hazardous in Hannah's opinion—overloaded car.

"So, this morning we got a phone call from a _very_ important Hollywood producer," Harry revealed, and already the story sounded fishy to Hannah.

"Oh yeah, wrong number?" Dean inquired, and Harry gave him a sharp look.

"No, smartass. He read all about the Hell House on our website and wants to option the motion picture rights," Ed continued, turning to smirk at them. "Maybe even write it."

"_And _create the RPG," Harry added.

"The what?" Dean asked, frowning.

"Role playing game," Ed answered, close to rolling his eyes. Dean nodded, and Hannah could tell he was unimpressed. "A little lingo for you. Anyhoo, excuse us, we're off to la-la land."

"Um, congrats guys," Hannah finally said, offering them a polite smile.

"That sounds really great," Sam commented.

"Yeah, that's awesome. Best of luck to you," Dean said, and Hannah shot him a look.

"Oh yeah, _luck_," Ed scoffed. "That has nothing to do with it. It's about talent. Sheer unabashed talent. See you guys around."

Harry sputtered out a goodbye to Hannah before climbing back in the car. She watched them drive off, unable to push the feeling that those idiots would get themselves in danger again. Shaking off those thoughts, Hannah followed the boys back to the Impala.

"I have a confession to make," Sam suddenly said. "I, uh, I was the one that called them and told them I was a producer."

It took a moment for the confession to sink in, and Dean burst out laughing.

"Yeah, well, I'm the one who put the dead fish in their backseat," he told them. Sam began to laugh, and Hannah shook her head.

"You guys are terrible people," Hannah sighed as she climbed into the backseat.


	18. Something Wicked

**A/N: **Sorry for such a belated update. I've been incredibly busy and exhausted with school. To everyone who's been requesting more Dean POVs, I think you'll like this chapter.

Huge thanks to everyone who's followed and favorited this fic. You guys are awesome! Special thanks to _PrettyInPeach_, _MaireMac_, _FlawlessxNightmare_, _bjq_, _LadyoftheMorningStar_, _alyssadavis25_, _Lt-Spork89_, _RomanticJournalist_, _HobbitHannah_, _AgentMaryMargaretSkitz_, _Kaikitty165, Nosserate_, _Sal_, _pandananda_, _MoonlightBushido_, _HippieLove1312_, _Laura620_, _dakr1201_, _megladon1616_, _Bailey_, _Cassie505, _and six guestsfor the reviews!

Hope you guys enjoy and review this chapter!

**18.**

**Something Wicked**

Driving with the Winchesters was a pastime Hannah enjoyed more than the boys did themselves. She thought it brought them closer as a team and had fun conversations with them if they weren't sulking. It was only after the past few days that she felt the complete opposite.

Her menstrual cycle had come around like it always did, but Hannah finished her bottle of aspirin and Mother Nature decided to amplify her cramps to the point that she laid on her side in the backseat of the Impala defeated. She wanted to stop at a convenience store, but Dean insisted they make minimal stops until they reached their destination.

_Suck it up_, Hannah told herself. She tangled with all sorts of entities every week and suffered plenty of injuries without much pause. Enduring her period without medication wouldn't stall her from hunting down monsters… even if these cramps ached worse than any wound she'd received in the past two months.

Up front, Dean and Sam were arguing about the coordinates John sent them. Hannah remembered looking them up with Sam, only to find nothing out of the ordinary. Sam didn't want to waste his time when they could be helping out John, while Dean insisted John wouldn't send them coordinates without a reason. If John sent them coordinates to a Chuck E. Cheese's, Dean would go there no questions asked.

"Well, maybe he's going to meet us there," suggested Dean.

"Yeah. Cause he's been _so_ easy to find up to this point," said Sam derisively.

"You're a real smartass, you know that?" Dean told him, annoyance plain in his voice. "Don't worry, I'm sure there's something in Fitchburg worth killing."

"What makes _you_ so sure?" Sam challenged.

"Because I'm the oldest, which means I'm always right," Dean replied.

Hannah slowly sat up, frowning as she considered his words. She leaned forward in the space between the passenger and driver's seat. "No, it doesn't."

"It totally does," Dean insisted, glancing at her.

"It's whoever's the smartest is always right," she corrected.

"Even smart people don't know what they're doing," he said. Hannah would have argued, but a sharp pain struck her abdomen and she slumped back.

She noticed Dean glancing at her through the rear view mirror, something resembling concern flitting in his eyes. Before she could meet his eyes, he turned back to the road.

* * *

It took them two hours to reach Fitchburg and Hannah just wanted to sleep off her cramps. She didn't think it could worsen, but it had. Every time the car jolted, Hannah felt closer to vomiting.

"You guys want any coffee?" Dean offered, after parking the Impala.

"Sure," Sam accepted, leaning against the hood of the car.

Dean regarded her. "You don't look so hot, princess.

Hannah glared at him, but doubted it had the effect she wanted. "Stop insulting me and go get yourself coffee."

He continued to watch her, but left without argument. Hannah was glad for it. She wasn't up for their usual bickering. It wouldn't have been a fair fight anyways considering she was so nauseated that another drive in the Impala would make her hurl. Imagining Dean's reaction to her vomiting in the backseat of his "precious baby" almost made her—

"Han." She looked up at Sam. "You feeling alright? You're not focused."

"I'm not feeling great," she admitted, trying to straighten her stance. "I'm just… I have my… um…" She hesitated then allowed the words to tumble out. "I'm on my period."

A dull blush suffused Sam's face. "Oh," was his response.

Instead of feeling embarrassed like she normally would have, Hannah was in too much pain to care. She'd rather tell Sam than Dean about her monthly cycles. Dean was so crass he'd make jokes about it.

Her eyes went to the playground across from them. Hannah tilted her head curiously at how _empty_ it looked. Only a single child played on the jungle gym. Reaching into the pocket of Sam's hoodie, she took his phone and checked the time. It was past four o'clock. That only made the vacant playground stranger.

"Doesn't that look weird to you?" she asked, gesturing to the playground. Sam wore a pensive expression as he watched the girl play alone.

"It does," he agreed.

"Well," a voice startled them. Dean returned with two cups of coffee and handed one to Sam. "The waitress thinks the local freemasons are up to something sneaky but other than that no one's heard about anything freaky going on."

"Check out the park," Sam told him. He nudged Hannah and she eased her weight off him.

Dean glanced at it and shrugged. "So?"

Sam mentioned how unusual it was for a playground to be this empty. It took a moment for Dean to understand his meaning. Taking a sip of his coffee, he announced he would talk to the girl's parent.

Hannah began to shrug off her cardigan, feeling unbearably hot, but left it on when a cold sweat broke over her skin. Her body stiffened as another wave of nausea hit her. Abdominal pain, nausea, a fever… Hannah wanted to kick herself for not realizing her symptoms sooner. God, she was a registered nurse for crying out loud!

_No time to feel embarrassed_, Hannah thought, _I need to go to the hospital_.

"Sam," she called out weakly. Her stomach heaved and Hannah collapsed to the ground, retching.

"Hannah!" She felt Sam beside her, his hands moving her hair away from her face.

Her throat was raw from throwing up, her mouth sour with the taste. Sweat trickled down her temples as she coughed out the last of her vomit. The smell almost made her retch again. Hannah sat up on her knees and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She needed to get to a hospital _now_.

"What the hell happened?" She heard Dean demand. His hands gripped her shoulders. "Hannah, say something."

"I…" It hurt to speak, but she pushed forward. "I have appendi… appendicitis."

"That sounds bad," Dean commented, frowning.

"It is," Sam said from next to her. "Can you stand, Hannah? We need to get you to a hospital."

She felt so weak and it showed when she tried to stand on her feet. Her knees buckled and before she could collapse again, Dean's arms were around her, holding her close. Hannah's lashes grew heavy and she was too exhausted to keep them up.

* * *

_6 Years Ago_

"Dean." Her voice was muffled against his chest, distant in spite of how close he held her.

"Don't talk," Dean instructed, singling his gaze on the entrance to the emergency room. He couldn't focus on anything but getting her help. "Stay awake, Hannah."

He staggered inside the emergency room and shouted, "Somebody help her!"

There was a flurry of movement and some nurses took Hannah from his arms to lay her down on the gurney. He stared at her, his heart beat quickening to a frighteningly fast pace. This was the first time he'd gotten a good look at her and it terrified him. The damn vampire thankfully hadn't ripped her throat to shreds, but instead punctured her jugular. The bandage he'd wrapped around her neck was stained a deep red and fresh blood seeped out relentlessly.

Dean knew they were trying to talk to him, but he couldn't listen. Not when Hannah didn't seem like she was breathing. Why wasn't she breathing? Why the hell wasn't she breathing? Was she _dead_? No, she couldn't be. The girl was only seventeen. It wasn't possible. It just wasn't possible…

"Oh, God, I killed her," Dean whispered, no longer following the gurney taking her away.

He killed her. He killed Bobby Singer's only kid. He killed his only friend. How could he have let that happen? She was only seventeen. Not even out of high school yet. Probably never even had her first kiss and Dean killed her before she could.

"Sir? Can you tell us what happened?" one of the nurses asked. "Sir?"

"Is she going to be okay?" Dean demanded, unable to think of an excuse on the fly. "She's going to be okay, right? She's not dead, is she? _Tell me she's going to be okay_."

Someone tried to grab his arm, telling him to calm down, but he shoved them off him. How could he calm down when he possibly killed Hannah? This should have never happened to her. She was too young, too sweet. He shouldn't have left her alone.

_I killed her, I killed her, I killed her…_ Dean kept thinking, even as security dragged him back to the waiting room.

* * *

"How is she?" was the first thing Sam asked when he returned. He'd gone ahead and questioned the head pediatric doctor and one of the parents.

"Still in surgery," Dean answered, though his eyes never left the doors leading to the emergency room. He'd been waiting close to twenty-eight minutes now, but it felt longer than that, like time purposefully dragged itself just to fuck with him.

He could see Sam frown from his peripheral vision, but he steadied his gaze on the door, hoping a nurse or the doctor themselves would walk out and tell them that Hannah was alright. The rational part of his mind knew Hannah would be too determined not to die, but he never wanted her back in a hospital bed. Remembering her six years ago in that hospital made his nerves go haywire.

"You know she's going to be fine, right?" Sam said.

"I know that." _Doesn't mean I can't worry. _"What did you find out?"

"Well, all the kids are in comas. None are responding to the antibiotics and their health is deteriorating. Apparently, this illness spreads through the kids," Sam explained.

"Huh. Weird."

"Yeah, so I went to talk to the most recent admission's parents. The dad says his oldest daughter must have opened the window."

Something cold and familiar spread throughout Dean, but he said nothing.

"Could just be pneumonia," his brother suggested, after his silence lingered.

"_Or_ maybe something opened that window," Dean countered. He noticed the look Sam gave him and added, "I don't know, man. Look, Dad sent us down here for a reason. I think we might be barking up the right tree."

"The guy I just talked to probably won't be home for a while," Sam mentioned.

Dean hesitated from leaving. He knew this job was important if his father sent him coordinates, but he'd feel guilty leaving Hannah alone in the middle of surgery. He hadn't left her during the vampire hunt gone awry, and she hadn't left him when he nearly died from a heart attack. Dean rarely went against his father's orders, but this… he just couldn't leave her.

Leaning back in the uncomfortable waiting chair, he tried to sound nonchalant as he replied, "You go ahead. I'll wait here."

"Dean," Sam started and he immediately recognized—and hated—that tone of voice. He used it whenever he thought Dean was acting unreasonable. "I know you're worried about Hannah, but it's just appendicitis. It's not a major surgery. She's going to be fine."

"I _said_ I'll wait here," Dean repeated, putting no room for argument.

Sam stared at him for a long time before sighing and leaving. Once he was gone, Dean took out his phone and hesitated to call Bobby. He promised the man he'd never put his daughter in the hospital again and yet here he was. Maybe Hannah didn't want her dad to drive all the way from Sioux Falls to see her hurt. After a tense moment, Dean decided not to decide for Hannah.

An hour later, the surgeon finally emerged from the operating room. Dean stood, ignoring his stiff joints, and went over to the doctor.

"How is she?" Dean asked, and he didn't attempt to hide the worry in his voice. The surgeon explained nothing ruptured during surgery and that she would need to stay in the hospital for at least two days. "Can I see her?"

He was limited to five minutes, but would get to spend more time with her when she was awake and coherent. He wiped his palms on his jeans the closer they got to her room. Of course he was relieved that she was fine, but imagining her on a hospital bed bothered him. He wasn't sure which was worse—her in the hospital or her crying.

Hannah was sedated when Dean finally entered her room. Dean moved to her side, watching as she could barely keep her eyes open. He didn't think she even registered that he was in front of her. She closed her eyes when his hand brushed a tendril of brown hair out of her face.

"Just sleep already," he murmured, rubbing his thumb over her forehead. His cheeks warmed when she mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like _his _name.

Pulling his hand away, Dean was reluctant to leave her alone. Looking at her one last time, he went to meet up with Sam.

* * *

Dean parked at the end of the street, knowing it would look suspicious if a black Impala was parked in front of an empty house. Sam showed up five minutes later, dressed in his regular clothes instead of the suit Dean last saw him in.

"You were right," Sam said, sounding a little out of breath. "It's not pneumonia."

"Well, what is it?" Dean asked.

Sam flipped open his phone and showed him a picture of the little girl's window. Near the glass was a handprint rotted into the painted wood. Dean stared at it, recognizing it from years ago. That coldness from earlier sunk deep into his bones as guilt settled in his belly.

This was just his luck. First Hannah was in the hospital and now a goddamn _shtriga_ was infesting this town. Dean had hoped his father would have gotten over his mistake, but he could feel the sting of his dad's disappointment from wherever he was. He felt a little less guilty about not calling Bobby. Dean didn't think he could deal with disappointing them both.

"It's rotted. What the hell leaves a handprint like that?" Sam wondered, frowning at the picture. "Dean?"

"I know why Dad sent us here," Dean told him. He swallowed thickly and turned on the ignition so he wouldn't have to look at his brother. "He's faced this thing before. He wants us to finish the job."

"So, you know what it is?" Sam questioned, after a silent moment.

"Dad called it a shtriga," he answered, stepping on the gas pedal. He wanted to check into a motel before heading back to the hospital.

"What the hell is a shtriga?"

"It's… uh, kind of like a witch—I think. You should ask Hannah about that one."

"Well, I've never heard of it and it's not in Dad's journal."

"Dad hunted one in Fort Douglas, Wisconsin, about sixteen, seventeen years ago," Dean explained, pulling up to the first motel he spotted. Fitchburg was a small town, so he hadn't expected to drive around in circles for a cheap motel. "You were there. You don't remember?"

Sam shrugged and answered, "No."

Dean stepped out of the driver's seat and went around to the trunk. "I guess he caught wind of things in Fitchburg and kicked us the coordinates."

"So, wait, this…" Sam trailed off.

"Shtriga," Dean supplied. He tried not to wince at the word.

"Right. You think it's the same one _Dad_ hunted before?" Sam questioned in disbelief.

"Yeah, maybe," Dean mumbled, getting his and Hannah's duffel bags. His hands gripped Hannah's bag tighter.

"But if Dad went after it why is it still breathing air?" Sam asked, curious.

"Cause' it got away," Dean answered through grit teeth.

"'_Got away'_?" Sam echoed, incredulous.

_Can't you just leave it alone? _Dean wanted to snap, but instead he bit out, "Yeah, Sammy, it _happens_."

Dean was hoping that would be the end of it, but knowing Sam, the kid didn't know when to leave shit alone.

"Not very often," Sam pointed out.

"Well, I don't know what else to tell you," Dean barked. Sam flinched back at the roughness in his voice. "I don't remember jack shit. I was a kid, alright?"

He left Sam outside and walked inside the office of the motel. Dropping their bags, he tapped the bell on the counter, waiting as a boy around ten or eleven with shaggy blonde hair dragged himself away from his TV over to Dean.

"A king or two queens?" he asked.

"Two queens," Dean answered. The response was often automatic after spending his entire life sleeping on a queen-sized bed.

Dean looked up sharply from his wallet when he heard the kid snicker and mutter something smart under his breath. "What'd you say?" he questioned lowly.

"Nice car," the kid said instead.

The door opened behind him and a woman with brown hair greeted him. Dean didn't pay much to the conversation between her and her son. His mind was on Hannah. He wanted to check in and head back to the hospital before she woke up. What if she was already awake? Fuck. Now Dean felt _more _like shit. He didn't want her to be awake without him or Sam there.

His eyes drifted to the mouthy kid. Dean watched as he led his little brother into the kitchen and fixed him a bowl of cereal. Just like Dean would do when for Sam while Dad was out hunting.

"I'm sorry, what?" Dean asked, when he realized the woman was trying to get his attention.

"Will that be cash or credit?" she repeated, not unkindly.

"Oh, uh, do you take Mastercard?" Dean inquired. When she nodded with a hum, he forced a smile. "Perfect. Here you go."

He thanked the woman and took his room key before meeting Sam outside. After placing their bags in their room, he and Sam drove back to the hospital. Sam brought his laptop to research the shtriga. It was a drizzling by the time they reached the hospital, but Dean didn't mind the rain.

When he mentioned visiting Hannah to the receptionist, she frowned. "Visiting hours are over, sir. You can come back tomorrow at eight o'clock."

Dean leaned forward, lowering his voice as he said, "We're the only family she has. I won't leave her alone up there after having surgery."

Thankfully, he didn't have to do any more convincing and the receptionist gave him and Sam visiting tags. Once on Hannah's floor, he gripped the handle of her bag tighter as he approached her room. Finding her wide awake on her bed eating a cup of chocolate pudding was unexpected, but Dean couldn't deny the relief that passed him to see those immense blue eyes open.

Then he felt annoyed at how casual she sounded when she greeted them, like she hadn't just had surgery.

"Aren't you in pain?" Dean nearly demanded.

"I'm medicated," she explained, waving her spoon at them.

"How are you feeling?" Sam asked, bending down to hug her. She returned the gesture enthusiastically.

When they pulled away, Hannah shrugged as she scooped out more pudding. "I'm fine. A little sleepy and shouldn't be eating this, but it tastes _so _good. This is my third one. Anyway, what have you guys been up to?"

"Checking out a victim's house. Dean thinks we're dealing with a shtriga," Sam informed her.

"You heard of those, princess?" Dean questioned.

"Mm. They're these witch-like creatures from Albania that take your..." Hannah paused, trying to explain. She snapped her fingers when she remembered. "Life force! Yeah, it's super creepy. Daddy used consecrated wrought iron to kill it."

"Yeah, Dad used the same thing," Dean said, nodding. It impressed him how easily she remembered despite her mind being muddled with drugs. "Ah, buckshots or rounds I think."

"If it can get killed like that, how come Dad didn't finish the job?" Sam questioned.

"It's vulnerable when it feeds so killing it risked whoever it was feeding on life," Dean answered tersely. Bringing up their failure in killing the damn thing wasn't helping his nerves. "Hannah, you know anything else about the shtriga?"

She wasn't listening and instead was shoving off the blanket tangled about her legs. Dean frowned, wondering where she thought she was going. He tried not to seem overly concerned as he walked around over to her bed and stopped her legs from swinging over the bedframe.

"Then let me—_Sam _carry you," Dean said, batting away her hands.

"I have to move around. If I lay in bed any longer I'll get bedsores," she complained.

"Can you even stand on your own?" Sam wondered.

"Yes."

"Let's see you then."

Dean stepped back and watched as she slowly but surely stood to her feet. She was slouching, though. When she took a step forward, she wobbled and without thinking, Dean reached out for her.

"Come on, old lady," he teased, slowly guiding towards the bathroom. He didn't flinch when she pinched his arm. Once safely in, he stepped out of the bathroom and let her do her business.

Then he noticed Sam staring at him strangely. He was about to demand what he was looking at when Sam spoke up first.

"I'm going to look up this shtriga. See if there's more info," he decided. "I think I saw a vending machine down the hall. Want to buy us some snacks?"

"It's always my money being used," Dean grumbled, but nodded and headed that way after Hannah was finished.

"Buy me some gum," Hannah said before he left. Dean rolled his eyes at her request.

He was surprised to see junk food in the vending machines, but was happy nonetheless. Dean ended up buying a couple bags of chips, sodas, M&amp;M's, and bubblegum. When he returned to Hannah's room, he tossed Sam a bag of chips and a can of soda before sitting down on the edge of Hannah's bed.

For the next hour, he and Hannah channel surfed while Sam researched the shtriga. There was nothing interesting on, so Dean and Hannah ended up tossing M&amp;M's into each other's mouths. It was good to see Hannah giggling and smiling.

"I have better aim," Dean declared after that they finished the first bag of M&amp;M's.

"Yeah right," Hannah scoffed. "You missed, like, twenty times."

"You missed thirty times," he retorted. Ripping open the other bag, he turned to Sam and said, "Sammy, open your mouth."

"No," Sam said flatly.

"I'm trying to prove a point."

"I don't care."

"_Please, _Sam," Hannah implored in a voice Dean knew too well.

Sam looked up, frowning. Hannah didn't falter and instead bit her lip. Rolling his eyes, Sam relented and opened his mouth. Dean shot Hannah an annoyed look, but gave her a single M&amp;M's. She flung it towards Sam's mouth, but it hit his nose instead. Dean tilted his head back laughing. Hannah kicked his side, but he couldn't stop laughing.

They stopped throwing candy around and went back to channel surfing.

Ten minutes later, Sam announced he found some more information about the shtriga. "Well, you and Hannah were right. They feed off _spiritus vitae_."

"Spiri-what?" Dean asked.

"It's Latin," Hannah yawned, sinking back onto the mattress and pillows. Her hair was tousled, a sight rare for Dean. It didn't make her look any less pretty.

"And it translates to what you said: life force," Sam added.

"Didn't the doctor say the kids' bodies were wearing out?" Dean questioned.

"It's a thought. you know she takes your vitality maybe your immunity goes to hell, pneumonia takes hold," Sam considered. "Anyway, shtrigas can feed off anyone but they prefer—"

"Children," Dean finished, sharing a look with his brother.

"Probably because they have stronger life force."

"And why wouldn't they? They don't have to worry about shit like bills, jobs, or demons."

"So, assuming we can kill it when it eats we still have to find the thing first, which isn't going to be a cakewalk," Sam said, getting up from his chair to stretch. "Shtrigas take on a human disguise when they're not hunting."

"What kind of human disguise?" Dean asked. The shtriga he'd seen hadn't worn a disguise.

"An old woman," Hannah answered drowsily. "You guys mind turning off the lights?"

He and Sam exchanged a look. Dean moved from the bed and went over to Hannah, ruffling her hair. She grumbled something, probably wanting him to stop, but didn't make any move to push away his hand.

"We're going back to the motel. We'll come back in the morning," Sam told her, collecting his laptop. Dean moved aside so Sam could say goodbye to Hannah. "Night, Han."

Dean repeated Sam's words and followed him out. On their way to the elevator, he suddenly remembered seeing a patient—an old woman—with an inverted cross on her wall.

"I think I know where our shtriga is," Dean said.

* * *

It was around eight or so in the morning that Hannah woke with a sharp pain in her abdomen.

Her body was still sore from surgery, but it hadn't bothered her until the meds were drained from her body. Sitting up, Hannah was about to call for a nurse when someone knocked lightly on her door. She turned her head to see a janitor, a man with hazel eyes and wavy brown hair sucking on a lollipop. He lingered there, watching her with an odd expression on his face.

"Um… can I help you?" Hannah finally asked, her voice hoarse.

The janitor rolled the lollipop around his mouth before pulling it out with a _pop_. "What happened?"

He looked familiar. Had she met him before? It felt like it, but she couldn't think of a name to go with his face or a situation where she met him.

"I had appendicitis," she answered, shifting her pillows to help her sit upright. "Do you… can you call a nurse?"

"Ah, you don't need a nurse," the janitor dismissed.

"I _do _need a nurse," Hannah insisted, wincing. When he stepped inside her room, she gripped the edge of her bed. "What are you doing?"

He tilted his head with an amused smile. "I won't hurt you, girlie. Just trust me."

She stared at him, startled. "'Just _trust you'?_ I don't even know you!"

"Come on, Hannah. You know me."

The man had the kind of face she could have seen yesterday or five years ago. It was just his whole demeanor and that smile she recognized, but could not place. Hannah didn't talk to many janitors over the years so _how?_

"You have a bad habit of landing in hospitals, Hannah Banana," he remarked.

_It was just one time_, Hannah thought peevishly. "How do you know that?" she demanded.

He didn't answer and instead placed his hand right over her stitches. She flinched, but then nearly jumped when her skin began to vibrate. Hannah looked up, alarmed. What was he? She reached out to grasp his arm, but let go when the tenderness in her abdomen disappeared.

"What did you—?" Hannah couldn't finish her sentence. The janitor touched her forehead and she collapsed back onto the bed, her consciousness fading immediately.

When she woke again, there was no pain. Hannah climbed out of bed, puzzled but pleasantly surprised at the lack of tenderness in her movements. She picked out some clean clothes from the duffel bag Dean brought and went to the bathroom to shower. The private bathroom in her room was tiny, but it did its purpose.

Stepping out of her shower, Hannah toweled herself dry, only to pause when she noticed there were no stitches on her abdomen. There wasn't even a _scar_. She slid her hand and touched where the scar should have been. It didn't sting when her fingers grazed over her skin. It was… weird. Hannah wasn't sure what to make of it, so she continued getting dressed and left to check out of the hospital.

On the first floor of the hospital, Hannah made her way to the front desk. She spoke to the counselor while texting Sam that she was checking out of the hospital. Hannah almost jumped out of her bones when someone touched her shoulder. She turned to see who it was, and her smile was immediate.

"Dean," she gasped. Hannah dropped her duffel bag to the ground before wrapping her arms around his waist. He made no move to hug her back. She rolled her eyes and pulled away. He'd have to get over his issues with their "chickflick moments" sooner or later.

"What are you doing out of your bed?" Dean asked, appraising her.

"It's weird. I woke up and felt no pain," she told him. Her smile receded when she noticed the shadow falling across his face. "What's wrong?"

"I'll tell you in the car," Dean said quietly. He picked up her bag and waited until she was finished checking out to walk alongside her to the parking lot. "I've been meaning to ask if you called Bobby yet."

"I did."

"And he didn't come rushing over here?"

"He wanted to, but I assured him it wasn't monster-related why I ended up in the hospital. Plus, he was busy hunting a ghoul."

"Ghouls are gross," Dean commented, fishing for his car keys.

Hannah frowned in confusion when they stopped in front of a dark blue truck instead of the Impala. She watched as he unlocked it and stood there even as he went slid into the driver's seat.

"Well? Aren't you getting in?" Dean demanded.

"What happened to your car?" Hannah asked warily.

"I'll explain on the way back," he said, then gestured for her to hurry up. "Come on. Don't you trust me?"

_Trust me_. Those words were like an echo, but Hannah couldn't recall why that phrase sounded familiar. Everyone said it, so why was it any different now? Pushing back her reservations, Hannah opened the passenger door and shoved her duffel bag on the floor as she climbed in.

"So, what did I miss?" Hannah asked as she buckled her seatbelt.

Dean explained that a single mother ran the motel and the youngest of her two sons—Asher—had fallen ill with pneumonia, which was why he was driving a truck. Sam had recently found out that the head doctor of the pediatric ward was the shtriga, not the old woman Dean mistook it for.

"Sam says it hits a new town every fifteen to twenty years." His hands clenched around the steering wheel. "We can't let that son of a bitch escape this time."

"It's only vulnerable when it feeds. Killing it could hurt whoever's next," Hannah pointed out. She was astonished at how perfect the disguise was. Anyone would trust a doctor over a creepy old woman.

"We'll make sure it doesn't put them in a coma then," Dean said. He gripped the steering wheel so hard he could have dented it. "I can't believe I let that bastard walk…"

"We'll get him," Hannah said softly, watching his knuckles whiten. "We've hunted everything successfully so far. Don't sweat it."

Dean glanced at her. "You're… calm about this."

She shrugged. "You look close to murdering that doctor so _someone _has to be."

He snorted, and Hannah smiled a little. The rest of the drive was silent until they approached a motel. Dean touched her hand and the roughness of it over her own made Hannah's heart beat faster. She looked at him, surprised by the sudden gesture. He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn't know how.

To her disappointment, Dean pulled his hand away and climbed out the truck. She withheld a sigh and stepped out with her duffel bag. When they entered the motel room, Sam was in the kitchenette. He widened his eyes when he saw her, only to let out a laugh when she ran over to him to give him a hug. Sam was such a tall guy who gave the most inviting hugs that she couldn't stop herself from curling herself into his arms.

"It's great to see you too, but aren't you supposed to be in the hospital?" Sam asked as he swung her around lightly.

"I don't know what happened, but I woke up with zero pain and couldn't just—" Hannah was practically buzzing with excitement despite the circumstances. "—you know, sit there and let you guys hunt alone!"

"Of course not." Sam sounded amused as he set her down. "At least we have one less thing to worry about. You filled her in already?"

Dean grunted in response. Hannah frowned as he began to pace around the room. He was agitated again and his growing anger did not dwell well with her.

"I'm surprised you didn't draw on him right there," Sam remarked, seemingly not worried about his brother's temper as Hannah was.

"Yeah well, first of all, I'm not going to open fire in a fucking pediatrics ward," Dean replied shortly, tossing his jacket onto one of the beds. "Second, wouldn't have done any good, because the bastard's bullet proof unless he's chowing down on something. And third, I wasn't packing, which is probably a good thing cause' I probably would have just burned a clip in him on principle alone."

Sam snorted, but there was an uneasiness in his expression. "You're getting wise in your old age, Dean."

"Damn right," Dean groused. He stopped pacing and turned to look at them. "Cause' now I know how we're going to get it."

"No," Hannah instantly said. "It's dangerous and—"

"Wait, what are you planning to do?" Sam questioned, confused.

"Shtriga, works through siblings, right?" Dean suddenly asked.

"Right," Sam answered slowly.

"Well last night it went after Asher. So, I'm thinking tonight it's probably going to come after Michael," Dean continued. He was talking fast, almost erratic.

_He wants to use him as bait_, Hannah thought, widening her eyes. She started to shake her head, about to tell Dean again that it was stupid and dangerous, but Sam spoke over her, completely oblivious.

"Well, we have to get him out of here," Sam said urgently.

"No, no," Dean dismissed, "that would blow the whole deal."

"_What?__"_ Sam's jaw went slack as he realized what Dean was saying.

"Dean, you're putting a child in _danger_," Hannah stressed.

"You don't think I know that?" he snapped.

"Forget it, Dean! That's out of the question," Sam exclaimed.

"It's not out of the question, Sam. It's the only way. If this thing disappears it could be _years_ before we get another chance," Dean replied sharply.

"Michael's a _kid_. We're not going to dangle him in front of that thing like a worm on a hook," Sam said in disbelief. Hannah didn't blame him. Children shouldn't be involved in the supernatural.

"Dad did _not_ send me here to walk away," Dean shouted.

"Send _you _here? He didn't send you here, he sent _us _here," Sam yelled back.

"This isn't about you, Sam. _I'm_ the one who screwed up, alright!" Dean exploded. Hannah and Sam blinked in surprise. "It's my fault. There's no telling how many kids have gotten hurt because of me."

His back was to them. Hannah could see how tense his shoulders were. She looked up at Sam, clueless about Dean's sudden outburst. She could only guess there was something more to hunting this shtriga and now that he mentioned _John_, Hannah was certain the missing man had done something. He always seemed to be the source of issues for both Dean and Sam. After all, Hannah had listened to Sam's frustrated rants about John her entire life.

"What are you saying, Dean? How is it your fault?" Hannah asked gently.

Dean said nothing.

Sam looked at her, concern plain on his face, and stepped towards his brother.

"Dean," Sam sighed. "You've been hiding something from the get-go. Since when does Dad bail on a hunt? Since when does he let something get away?" Sam asked and almost sounded like he was begging when he continued, "Talk to us, man. Tell us what's going on."

From where Dean stood, his shoulders grew even more rigid. Finally, he moved to the couch, resting his elbows on his knees as he buried his face in his hands. Before she could stop herself, Hannah found herself sitting down next to him. She didn't touch him in fear of him refusing to open up.

"Fort Douglas, Wisconsin," he eventually said. Hannah glanced at Sam, wondering if he understood the reference. "It was our third night in this crap room and I was climbing the walls. Man, I needed to get some air."

From what Dean told them, he had left to play an arcade game right across from the motel he and Sam were situated in. After a couple of hours, Dean returned to find Sam asleep with a hooded figure bent above him. Dean had picked up his shotgun, readied himself to shoot it, but then John stormed in and shoved Dean out of the way as he shot at the shtriga. It fled, but it was Dean who dealt the brunt of John's anger, not the creature who almost harmed Sam.

Dean paused, a pained expression on his face as he remembered. Sam had moved over to sit on the other side of Dean, frowning. Hannah squeezed her hands together, restraining herself from giving him a hug.

"Dad just ... grabbed us and booked. Dropped us off at Pastor Jim's about three hours away, but by the time he got back to Fort Douglas the shtriga had disappeared. It was just _gone_. It never surfaced until now," Dean finished, avoiding their eyes. "You know, Dad never spoke about it again. I didn't ask. But he, ah, he looked at me different, you know? Which was worse."

Something within her threatened to shatter into a million pieces.

"Not that I blame him," Dean added, and Hannah swore that something did shatter within her. "He gave me an order and I didn't listen, I almost got you killed."

"You were only a little kid," Hannah started softly.

"Don't." There was a weariness to Dean's voice, but an edge that made it clear he didn't want their pity. "Dad knew this was unfinished business for me. He sent me here to finish it."

"But using Michael… I don't know, Dean." Sam shook his head. "I mean, how about one of us hides under the covers, you know, we'll be the bait."

"No, it won't work. It's got to get close enough to feed," Dean explained, lifting his head. "Believe me, I don't like it, but it's got to be the kid."

* * *

Predictably, Michael had thought they were insane.

The poor kid had threatened to call the cops, but thankfully hadn't. Now they were back at the motel room wondering how to protect Michael and kill the shtriga. Dean stopped pacing and Hannah's conversation with Sam came to a halt when there was a knock at their door. Crap. Did Michael _actually _call the police on them?

To her surprise, it was Michael at the door.

"If you kill it, will Asher get better?" he asked Dean. He trembled under their stare, but his voice was unafraid.

"Honestly?" Dean glanced behind him at her and Sam. "We don't know."

"You said you were a big brother," Michael stated, standing straighter.

"Yeah." Dean nodded.

"You'd take care of your little brother? You'd do anything for him?"

Dean glanced behind him again, this time his eyes going to Sam. He turned back to Michael and said in a gentle voice, "Yeah, I would."

Michael searched Dean's face then nodded. "Me too. I'll help."

Ten minutes later, Dean was setting up a security camera in Michael's room while Hannah and Sam watched through the security feed on his laptop. The video became clear when Dean finished adjusting it.

"_This camera has night vision on it so we'll be able to see clear as day_," Dean told Michael, then looked at the lens. "_Are we good?__"_

"A hair to the right," Sam instructed, raising his voice so Dean could hear. When he moved the camera slightly so they got a good view of the window and Michael, Sam yelled for Dean to stop.

Hannah watched as Dean moved to sit on Michael's bed, a strange feeling coming over her as he eased Michael's worries about their plan. Dean repeated countless times he was bad with kids or didn't like them, but he handled them so well. He had a protective, paternal sort of devotion to children and it made something soft unfurl across her heart whenever she witnessed him around them.

She looked at Sam beside her, remembering what Dean told them earlier. If John had left them alone as he hunted, did that mean Dean _raised _Sam? It would explain why Sam was so smart and devoted to his academics. It was a natural thing for Dean, she realized. Taking care of people.

Sam noticed her staring. "What is it?"

"He's good with kids, isn't he?" Hannah flicked her head at the screen where Dean continued to reassure Michael.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. He smiled and nudged her. "He'd make a good dad, huh?"

Heat rushed to her face, and Hannah knew she was blushing. She wished she wasn't. It was embarrassing, but thankfully Sam didn't tease her.

Dean returned to their room not too long after and sat down on the other side of Hannah. He pulled out his Colt and began to clean and reload it. Hours passed and Hannah wondered when exactly the shtriga would show up. Her eyes were burning from staring a computer screen for most of the night. She was just glad she had enough patience to wait for this thing.

"What time is it?" Dean asked quietly. His eyes never left the security feed.

"Three," Sam answered after checking his phone. "You guys sure these iron rounds are going to work?"

Hannah frowned at him, affronted. "You don't believe me? When have I ever been wrong about this sort of thing?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "You were doped up when you told me about the iron rounds, Hannah. Do you _expect _me to believe you?"

"How dare you—"

"Consecrated iron rounds," Dean corrected, interrupting them. "And yeah, it's what Dad used."

Nothing was said afterwards until Sam said in a soft voice, "Hey, Dean, I'm sorry."

Dean was nonplussed for a moment before asking, "For _what?__"_

"You know, I've really given you a lot of crap, for always following Dad's orders," Sam explained, then added in a voice that Hannah could tell he was smiling. "But I know why you do it."

Next to her, Dean tilted his head back with a groan. "Oh, God, kill me now."

Sam laughed lightly and Hannah elbowed Dean. It wasn't often those two expressed their feelings, much less to each other. Her smile dropped from her face when she focused on the security feed again, noticing long, skeletal fingers tapping at Michael's window.

"You guys, look," Hannah whispered, urgent.

The three of them leaned close and Hannah heard Dean cock his pistol. The hand opened the window and a figure draped in a black cloak climbed in. Hannah narrowed her eyes to get a better look at the shtriga's face, never seeing one before.

"Now?" Sam asked.

"Not yet," Dean muttered, watching the shtriga approach Michael. He was in his bed, wide awake and petrified.

Hannah's fingers tightened around her pistol, her adrenaline pumping through her veins. She wanted to burst into the room and shoot the thing, but forced herself to remain still. The shtriga's thin hand touched Michael's face and as a blue light radiated from under the hood of the shtriga, Dean snapped, "Now," and they rushed into Michael's room.

"Michael, get down!" Hannah shouted, and as soon as the boy had rolled off the bed and under it, she and the boys fired at the shtriga. It thrashed about as they continued shooting before falling to the ground.

"Mike, you alright?" Dean questioned, when they stopped shooting.

"Yeah." His voice wavered, but he was unhurt so Hannah didn't worry too much.

"Just sit tight," Dean told him.

Hannah watched warily as Dean slowly walked over to the shtriga on the ground. Sam was tense next to her, but so was she. That thing could jump up at any moment and attack. Dean's whole demeanor relaxed and he looked at them, almost smiling. Without warning, the shtriga rose up at lightning speed and seized Dean by the throat then propelled him against the wall, destroying a closet in the process.

It rammed itself at Hannah, knocking her back towards the door. For a split moment, Hannah could only see white before her vision returned to her, along with a searing pain in her head and spine. She blindly felt around for her pistol and pushed herself off the ground unsteadily. The shtriga was throwing Sam to the ground and hunched over him. Hannah raised her pistol to shoot, but she only heard clicks. _Dammit_, she thought. No more bullets.

"_Hey!"_ Dean shouted. He had a cut on the right side of his forehead.

The shtriga looked up, mouth shining with the same blue light they'd seen earlier. The next second, a bullet hole was between its eyes, the force of it making the shtriga fall backwards. Hannah helped pull Sam from underneath the shtriga, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders as he panted.

"You okay, little brother?" Dean asked, pistol still pointed at the unmoving creature.

Sam gave a shaky nod and offered two thumbs up. Hannah felt Dean's legs brush past her as he walked towards the shtriga. He shot it three more times in the chest and the stolen energy rose out of its mouth. Its body disintegrated into ashes, leaving behind a black cloak. Hannah looked under the bed and saw Michael staring wide-eyed at the dead shtriga.

"It's okay, Michael. Palpatine's gone now," Hannah told him breathlessly. Sam's disbelieving laugh filled the tense air and Dean rolled his eyes at her.

* * *

She and the boys spent the rest of the night cleaning up Michael's room. Michael had started to help, but ended up falling asleep in his mother's bed.

It was close to the afternoon when Michael answered the phone and told Dean his mother wished to speak to him. The conversation lasted for a minute and Dean said he needed to pick up Michael's mother since he had her truck. Hannah and Sam spent the rest of the time packing their things and checking out of the motel.

The hospital wasn't too far from the motel, so Dean returned quickly. "Joanna says Asher's gonna be fine," he told them.

"That's great!" Hannah said, bouncing to the side.

"How are the other kids?" Sam asked him.

"They're all recovering. I guess killing Palpatine really worked," Dean remarked, smirking at Hannah. The boys had found her little joke a riot, but in Hannah's defense, the shtriga _did _resemble Darth Sidious.

Michael waved goodbye at them as he hopped inside his mother's truck. Hannah waved, but her focus was on Dean. He had one of those rare, blink-and-miss-it type of smiles. Tender and reserved only for the innocent.

Sam went around to the passenger side of the Impala, sighing heavily after Joanna and Michael left. "It's too bad."

"Oh, they'll be fine," Dean said, watching the truck go until it was out of eyesight.

"That's not what I meant. I meant Michael. He'll always know there are things out there in the dark… He'll never be the same, you know?" Sam paused, mulling over his thoughts. He shook his head. "Sometimes I wish…"

He trailed off and Hannah nudged him. "What?" she inquired.

"I wish I could have that kind of innocence," he admitted.

It was quiet for some time then Dean tapped the roof of the car. "If it means anything," he started slowly, "sometimes I wish you could too." Dean looked at Hannah, regarding her with an unreadable look in his eyes. "You _both _could."

Her face was still warm long after they left Fitchburg.

* * *

**A/N: **You guys have been asking me to write some Dean POVs so here it is! Hopefully he isn't OOC. Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed the chapter and will keep reading!


	19. Provenance

**A/N: **I cannot thank you guys enough for following, favoriting, and reviewing this fic. Special thanks to _grapejuice101, megladon1616, JenRiley16, Micky-Moo, SPARKELS77, The-Effulgent-One, hardygirl87, catetay, the bookstiger, _and the guests for the reviews. I'd advise you guys to reread chapter sixteen because someone from that chapter appears.

Hope you guys enjoy and review this chapter! This is by far my favorite chapter to write.

**19.**

**Provenance**

They were at a gas station in New York when Dean suddenly suggested, "We should celebrate."

"Celebrate what exactly?" Sam asked from the passenger seat.

"Life—_her _life," Dean answered, grabbing Hannah by the arm and whirling her to Sam's window. "You were in the hospital and now you're alright. That deserves a toast, right?"

Hannah stared up at him in disbelief. Did he not realize that her surgery hadn't been dire? She crossed her arms as she tilted her head. Why Dean wanted to "celebrate" her health was beyond her.

Sam seemed to know. "You're just trying to find an excuse to hit on some girls."

"You know me too well, Sammy." Dean let go of her and went back to the gas pump. "You aren't going to cockblock me, are you?"

He directed his question to Hannah. She rolled her eyes. "I don't care about you getting laid."

She was lying, but what good would it do to get upset? Dean wasn't her boyfriend. He was allowed to hook up with different girls. It wasn't like he had any idea that maybe she'd like him to, well… Hannah inhaled sharply, frustrated by her own cowardice. Even in her mind, she couldn't entertain the idea of her and Dean being more than friends.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Really? Because you always have something to say when I meet a hot girl."

"When we're on a _hunt_, Dean. I'm just reminding you where your priorities should be."

"Well, we aren't hunting now. So, can we go to the bar tonight?"

"It's not like you need my permission to go."

He narrowed his green eyes at her. She returned his glare with a baleful look of her own.

"You guys sound like you're married," Sam remarked. He chuckled when Hannah and Dean turned away from each other to scowl at him.

Thankfully, the gas tank was filled before she and Dean could bicker again. Hannah climbed into the backseat, silently trying to mend her unpleasant mood. Admittedly, the stress from the lack of breaks between hunts was taking a toll on her. It didn't help that the motels were shoddy and offered zero comfort. The pressure of earning a high GPA seemed easier than hunting down monsters for Hannah. She was faintly aware that if she stressed herself _too _much she'd lose her proficiency and prove to every hunter who doubted her that she wasn't meant to become one of them.

Hannah couldn't allow that to happen. Forcing a smile, she asked, "What bar are you thinking of?"

Dean grinned.

* * *

Dean abandoned Hannah and Sam the moment two girls at the bar began eyeing him with interest. He wasn't even apologetic about it. He just grinned and strode over to them. Hannah tried not to care.

"What do you think of this one?" Hannah asked, pushing a newspaper in front of him. They had taken to finding their next hunt. She pointed to a column where a couple from New York were both found dead in their own home, a few days ago. "Throats were slit. There were no prints or murder weapons."

"Sounds like our kind of thing," Sam noted after reading it. "That guy is checking you out."

"Huh? Who?"

"Blond guy by the darts."

Hannah hoped she wasn't being obvious as she looked around. The man was older than Dean, and a tan, hunky one at that. His shoulder-length, sandy blond hair reminded Hannah of those male models on the cover of trashy romance novels. She smiled tentatively and wiggled her fingers at him. He waved back.

"What of it?" Hannah asked, turning back to Sam.

"Nothing," Sam muttered, focusing on John's map and journal. "Just thought you should know. Guys look at you a lot when we go to bars."

_Not all guys_, thought Hannah. She glanced at Dean, where he was cozied up with the girls. Not that Dean limited himself to a type, but most of his hookups looked nothing like her. She wondered if he thought about her, but was afraid to say something. Hannah was afraid too. What if he never wanted to speak to her again? All because she decided to let him know that she _liked _him? Hannah wasn't willing to risk that.

She must have been silent for a while because Sam was giving her a concerned look. "Dean can be dense sometimes, Han. He'll come around."

That caught her off guard. "W-what?" she stammered.

Sam smiled, like he found her funny. Instead, he called Dean over. He explained the job to Dean. Except Dean wasn't listening whatsoever. He was too focused on the girls waiting for him.

"_Dean_," Hannah reproached.

"_What?" _Dean snapped.

"You need to listen. This is more important than getting some notch in your belt," Hannah said sharply.

"You need a couple notches in _your_ belt, Princess," Dean retorted. "Just because you aren't getting laid doesn't mean you have to get jealous over me. I can't help looking this good."

Heat rushed to her face, but Hannah did not lose her composure. "All these girls you get with… are you trying to compensate for something?"

It was Dean's turn to look embarrassed. His face darkened when Sam snickered.

"Dad noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York," Sam said, cutting in before either could argue again. "First one here in 1912, second one right here in 1945, and the third in 1970, the same M.O. as the Telescas. Their throats were slit. Doors were locked from the inside. Now so much time had passed between murders that nobody checked the pattern, except Dad."

"It's worth checking out," Dean admitted, though grudgingly. "We'll pick this up first thing in the morning, right?"

Dean didn't wait for an answer. He went over to the girls, and shot Hannah a smirk. She returned his smirk with a bland look. How could she possibly be jealous anymore? He was acting ridiculous. Hannah glanced back at the man playing darts. She didn't want to sit here and watch Dean with his dates. If Dean could have fun, so could she. They were celebrating her life after all. Slowly, she made her way over to the man.

"Hi." He was better looking up close, especially with the stubble covering his strong jaw.

"Hello." He smiled lazily, wide enough to reveal dimples in his cheeks. "Want to play?"

"Sure." She watched him collect his darts from the dartboard. "What's your name?"

"Luke." He gave her some darts. "What's yours, sweetie?"

"Hannah." She was relieved her voice didn't stumble.

Luke let out a long whistle when Hannah managed to win the first round. "Wasn't expecting that," he admitted.

"I'm better than I look," Hannah replied, smiling widely. "So, Luke, is there a particular prize you want _if _you beat me?"

He laughed. "Getting pretty arrogant, aren't we?" he asked, smirking. "Well, maybe a kiss… or something else if you're up for it."

Hannah thought her blood was on fire. Not often did she have a man express interest in her. It felt like ages since someone actually _wanted _her. _What about Dean? _She hated that it always came back to him. Yes, she had feelings for him. She couldn't deny that anymore, but he didn't return her feelings. Hannah didn't know how she could wait for him, but that didn't mean she couldn't have fun while she did.

This, though. It went against what Hannah typically did. She wasn't one for one night stands. Anytime she did anything remotely sexual, it was in a relationship. _I'm an adult_, Hannah reminded herself. She was twenty-three, and most people her age and probably younger had one night stands. What was she even scared for? Luke was pretty dreamy to look at. She could only imagine how he'd be when they're alone. Hannah remembered Dean teasing her months ago, saying she'd never sleep with a guy she didn't know.

Pushing back her reservations, Hannah touched Luke's hand. He looked down at their joined hands, then slowly returned his gaze to her face. "Maybe you don't have to wait another round for that prize," she said, biting her lip.

His smile was wicked enough to make her blood rush and burn.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Luke asked, squeezing her hand.

"Let me just… just get my purse," she stammered, then hurried over to Sam's table. "Hey, Sammy. Please don't worry or anything, but I'm leaving with my new…" Hannah struggled to describe Luke. "… friend. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Um, okay?" Sam was bewildered, but accepted her hug goodbye.

Hannah felt a little guilty. She was abandoning him, like Dean was always doing to them. God, was she going to become Dean? No, this was a one time thing.

Once outside, Luke paused on their way to his car. He touched her chin to tip her head up, and Hannah only had time to say, "Oh" before he kissed her. He tasted like spearmint and held her face in his large hands, kissing her greedily until her knees grew weak. When they finally pulled away, Hannah could hardly breathe. Yes, it definitely had been too long since she'd been kissed.

It took all her strength not to glance back at the bar one last time.

* * *

At first, Dean couldn't understand the scene before him. Hannah stood too close to a long-haired man. They kept getting closer and closer until… until their mouths met. He would have stood there in complete confusion if the two girls with him hadn't tugged him along impatiently. Even with _AC/DC _playing on his radio and the girls chattering, Dean was trying to comprehend it.

Hannah had _kissed _another guy, and _left _with him.

It was always a strange and uncomfortable thing, being reminded of Hannah's sexuality. She acted like such a kid that he saw her as one, well, _most _of the time. Her wholesome demeanor helped him ignore how her sweaters often strained against her breasts. Thankfully, Hannah was too focused on helping him and Sam to get laid. She was just too sentimental for one night of anonymous sex. At least, that was what Dean _thought_.

Despite his mood effectively getting killed, leaving wasn't an option. Returning to the motel and explaining to Sam why he turned down two willing girls was out of the question. He had made a big deal out of it, so to not go through with it would make Sam ask questions that Dean wasn't prepared to answer.

He tried to think of anything to get his engine running again, for the sake of not embarrassing himself in front of these girls. Lynda Carter, Catherine Bach, his favorite porn stars, _something_. Then he thought of Hannah. He imagined her on top of him, sinking down onto his dick, her cheeks flushed, mouth slightly open. That… that revved him. Just closing his eyes and imagining her braced against his shoulders instead of Brandy or whatever her friend's name was stirred something raw inside him.

_Oh, fuck_, Dean thought, when he came for the second time. He thought of Hannah. He thought of_ Hannah_ while inside another woman. Dean felt wrong. He wasn't supposed to think about _Hannah _when having a dirty threesome, yet he couldn't help it. Hannah was constantly around. She was a beautiful, young woman. How could he _not _think about her? He wondered if she thought about her mysterious ex-boyfriend when with that long-haired guy, or maybe even…

Dean couldn't finish the thought. It was pathetic. That whole threesome was pathetic.

_I've hit a new low_, thought Dean.

He ran out of Brandy's house the moment he woke up. Half-dressed and unsettled with his fantasies, Dean drove back to the motel. He was searching for his motel room keys when he heard the rumble of a car approach him. Dean cursed under his breath when it was Hannah, and curled his free hand into a fist when she leaned over to give the driver a kiss. He had to give her props, though. She did not look like a girl who just got fucked. Her clothes weren't wrinkled, nor was her hair tousled. Dean would have been impressed if he weren't irritated.

Why the hell was he even upset? Hannah wasn't his girlfriend or anything. She could go and fuck whoever she wanted. It pissed Dean off more that he _didn't _want her to go and do just that.

"Had a good time?" Dean asked, barely able to suppress his own frustration.

Hannah looked up at him. The look on her face caught him off guard. He didn't expect for her eyes to hold such hurt in them. That was the thing with her. Dean could always tell what she was feeling. She couldn't hide her emotions at all. He didn't understand the sudden guilt unraveling in his gut. It made him more uncomfortable than when he thought of her last night.

Dean faced the door, unable to keep his gaze without feeling any more like a jackass.

"Right." He opened the door and stepped aside. She glanced back at him as she passed him, her eyes searching his. Dean scoffed and went over to his duffel bag, shoving back his shame.

* * *

While Dean napped in the car, Hannah and Sam checked the Telescas home with the EMF. Strangely enough, it was empty of any furniture.

"So, you found nothing suspicious in their family history?" Hannah asked, wandering out of the kitchen.

"No and none with the house's history," Sam answered, voice drifting as he disappeared upstairs. She followed him, pushing open bedroom doors to find nothing. "Where do you think their stuff is?"

"I can call around," Hannah offered, checking a closet. She heard Sam enter the room. "Sorry for deserting you last night."

"I'm fine," Sam said, waving a dismissive hand. "Dean didn't seem too happy. Usually he brags about his sex life, but he's been quiet."

Hannah shrugged. Dean had given her an odd look earlier, something akin to anger. Whatever it was, it stung.

"Maybe he's still processing it," she suggested.

"Or maybe he's jealous," Sam proposed, and Hannah looked at him sharply. Dean jealous of _her? _That would never happen. "Hannah, I know."

"You know what?"

"About your feelings for him."

She faltered. Her hand tightened around the silent EMF she was holding. Ignoring the pounding of her heart, Hannah asked unsteadily, "How long?"

"You're kind of obvious," he replied, smiling gently. "I mean, Dean's pretty stupid not to notice you pining. Well, it's good for _you _that he doesn't notice."

"You can't tell him," Hannah pleaded, her eyes pricking with tears. "Please, _please_ don't. He can't know. Not now. Don't tell him, _please_—"

"Hey, hey." Sam touched her shoulders. "I'm not blackmailing you or anything. It's not really my business to tell him. I just want you to know that you can talk to me."

Tears rolled down her cheeks and over her smile. Hannah wrapped her arms around his waist, letting him pull her close. She closed her eyes, listening to his heartbeat. Hannah was relieved he wouldn't tell Dean, and even thankful that she had someone else to talk to.

"Thank you, Sam," Hannah mumbled, when she finally pulled away. "We should probably get back to him."

Sam nodded and they headed back to the Impala. He lifted his forefinger to his mouth and silently went around to the driver's seat. Hannah watched him, amused, as he startled Dean awake by honking the wheel. Dean jumped so hard his sunglasses fell off his face. He glared at them when he heard their laughter.

As Sam explained what they found, Hannah called around until she discovered that the Telescas's belongings were being auctioned off. She just hoped they could get in without much trouble.

* * *

The auction building was worse than Sam imagined. Classical music drifted out of the building, and outside valet parked sports cars. Men and women dressed in gowns and tuxes entered the building. He, Dean, and Hannah were _so _not dressed appropriately. They were going to get thrown out almost immediately.

Somehow, almost ludicrously, they managed to enter the building.

"Didn't you eat breakfast?" Sam asked, watching Dean stuff his face with food.

He opened his mouth to retort, but Hannah punched his arm. "Chew first," she hissed. She wrinkled her nose when he stuck his chewed up food at her. "You're disgusting."

"That's rich coming from you, Princess," Dean said, his voice more scathing than Sam expected, and Hannah recoiled from it.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" someone asked. When Hannah turned around, he added in a polite tone, "And lady?"

"I'd like some champagne please," Dean told him, straightening his stance.

"He's not a waiter," Sam said sharply. His brother was an idiot. He held out his hand to the man. "I'm Sam Connors."

The man glanced down at the outstretched hand and made no move to shake it.

"That's my brother Dean," Sam continued, unfazed. He used his unshaken hand to point at Dean who was eating more food. "And this is Hannah. She's my assistant. We're art dealers."

"_You _are… art dealers," the man repeated, watching Dean. Sam nodded. "I'm Daniel Blake, this is my auction house. Now gentlemen—and lady—this is a private showing, and I don't remember seeing you on the guest list."

"We're there, Chuckles, you just need to take another look," Dean said, then snatched a champagne off a platter passing by. "Oh, finally."

Dean sniffed the champagne and smirked at Blake before walking off. Hannah chased after Dean, looking ready to give him the chastising of a century. Sam offered Blake a stiff, "Cheers" before following his brother.

They found the Telescas belongings soon after. Sam paused by a family painting. It consisted of three children—two sons and a daughter—standing with their parents. The boys were dressed formally. The daughter carried a doll. Sam narrowed his eyes at the painting. Something was off with it, but _what?_

"Isn't it weird how they never smile in these paintings?" Hannah wondered, peering at the painting. "Was there a rule that said no smiling?"

"You _would _think about that," Sam commented, shaking his head.

"A fine example of American Primitive wouldn't you say?"

Sam turned towards the voice. The noise around him drowned out until there was silence as he watched a dark-haired girl descend the spiral staircase. Tan and leggy, she wore a black dress and a smile that made his heartbeat quicken. Sam looked back at the painting uneasily. He hadn't felt such a pull towards another girl since Jessica.

"Dude," Dean hissed, slapping him on the back.

"Well I'd say it's more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses," Sam hastily replied, turning back to the girl. She stood right before them now, towering over Hannah in her heels. "But you knew that. You just wanted to see if I did."

"Guilty… and clumsy," she admitted sheepishly. "I apologize. I'm Sarah Blake."

"I'm Sam. This is Hannah and that's my…" Sam trailed off when he noticed Dean taking food off a passing tray. "… brother Dean."

"Dean," Sarah said, earning his attention. "Can we get you some more mini-quiche?"

"I'm good, thanks," Dean said between chewing his food. Hannah looked thoroughly disgusted.

"So." Sarah glanced between Sam and Hannah. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Yeah, actually. What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?" Sam asked, suppressing his smile at Hannah's annoyance. At least she wasn't so in love with his brother that she couldn't see his flaws.

"The whole thing's pretty grisly if you ask me, selling your things this so soon," Sarah replied, glancing at the table. "But Dad's right about one thing. Sensationalism brings out the crowds. Even the rich ones."

"Is it possible to see the provenances?"

Sarah opened her mouth, but a man's voice came out. "I'm afraid there isn't any chance of that," Blake said, standing beside his daughter.

Sam shifted on his feet, sensing Blake's hostility. "Why not?"

"You're not on the guest list, and I think it's time to leave," he told them coldly.

"Well, we don't have to be told twice," Dean said loftily.

Hannah took Dean and Sam's elbows, and smiled apologetically to Blake. "We're leaving."

Sam met Sarah's gaze. Her eyes were hazel and interested. It made his insides coil. He gave her a brief nod before allowing Hannah to lead him and Dean out of the auction house. He tuned out Hannah's berating directed at Dean. How were they going to investigate the Telescas if they couldn't get in the auction house? Breaking in was another, if unsavory, choice.

His arm fell limp and Sam realized Hannah wasn't tugging them along anymore. She stood between them, frozen and wide-eyed. Before he could ask what was wrong, someone approached them. Tall and tan, the man had blue eyes, an aquiline nose, and short, light brown hair.

"Hannah," he said, staring at her like she was an oasis in the desert. It was a little intense, and it wasn't even directed at Sam.

"Warren." Hannah's voice cracked. "What are you doing here?"

"Visiting my parents, but… what are _you _doing here? You don't even live here," Warren questioned, confusion lacing his tone. It didn't match the excited look on his face.

"I… we're…" Sam had never seen Hannah so spooked.

"My brother and I are art dealers," Sam answered, when Hannah couldn't finish her sentence. "Hannah's helping us out."

"Right," Warren said, furrowing his brows. "Uh, Hannah, can we talk?"

"We were just leaving," Dean cut in.

"Hannah, it won't take long," Warren continued, ignoring Dean.

"She doesn't _want_ to talk to you so stop harassing her," Dean snapped. There was an edge to his voice. Sam would have shot Dean a look for his rudeness, but that tone confirmed his suspicions.

Dean liked Hannah.

Sam knew Hannah had feelings for his brother. Driving on endless roads and staying in motels together made him notice things. He just didn't know if Dean reciprocated. There were instances of Dean _possibly _liking their childhood friend. Like in the mornings when they shared the bathroom, Dean would play around with Hannah. Purposefully bump her shoulder, mess up her counting when she brushed her hair, other cutesy things. Well, Dean would deny it straight to hell whatever he did with Hannah was "cutesy."

Then this morning, when both Dean and Hannah returned from their respective one night stands, Sam could see Dean brimming of anger and jealousy. Dean acting like an asshole to this Warren guy was enough proof Sam needed.

"No, it's fine," Hannah murmured, letting go of Dean. "I'll meet you guys by the car."

Dean hesitated, continuing to scowl at Warren. He only followed Sam outside when Hannah nodded at him. Once they were out of earshot, Dean exploded. "Who the fuck was that?" he demanded.

"No clue," Sam admitted. He flinched when someone touched his arm. "Sarah," he said, surprised.

"I'm sorry about my dad," Sarah started, breathless.

"No, no. It's fine. We snuck in," he said, brushing off her apology. "Um…" Dean was giving him a look, his eyes darting from him to Sarah. "I hope you don't think I'm being _too _forward but could I get your number?"

Sarah blinked then smiled, a sight that made Sam's insides flutter. She took his phone and entered her number. "I'll hear from you soon, right?"

"Right. Yeah." Sam nodded, fiddling with his phone. He forced a smile and watched Sarah disappear inside the auction house.

"Grant Wood, Grandma Moses?" Dean questioned, smirking at him.

"Art history course," Sam explained. Sarah's smile was still burned in his retinas. "It's good for meeting girls."

"It's like I don't even know you," Dean remarked, his smirk fading. His eyes were trained on the entrance of the auction house. "What the hell is a provenance, anyway?"

"It's a certificate of origin, like a biography," Sam told him. "You know we can use them to check the history of the pieces, see if any of them have a freaky past."

Blake wouldn't give them the provenances, not after the stunt in the auction house. Sam swallowed thickly. Using Sarah was deceitful, but she could unknowingly sell a haunted item to the next victim. Part of him wanted to get to know her, but it almost felt like betrayal to Jess.

"I can, uh, talk to Sarah," Sam suggested tentatively. "Take her out on a date and convince her to give me the provenances."

"Really?" Dean glanced at him, astonished. "She _was _checking out your ass. I always knew you were a dog, Sammy."

"You're the only dog around, Dean," Sam replied, chuckling. He bit back his laugh at the blush suffusing Dean's cheeks.

Hannah finally stepped out of the auction house. She seemed fine, until she drew close enough for Sam to notice her trying her damnedest not to cry. That was definitely a first. She never seemed to hesitate when it came to crying. Whatever happened in there must have been…

"You okay?" he asked softly.

She inhaled sharply, before looking up at him. Seeing the tears in her eyes made Sam frown. "I'm fine," she said, her voice high and wavering. "Can we go?"

He wanted to comfort her, but he doubted that was what she wanted now. Sam nodded and watched her climb into the backseat before joining Dean up front.

* * *

The moment Sam left for his date with Sarah, Hannah knew she was doomed.

She was being melodramatic, but something terrible was bound to happen when left alone with Dean. He was angry with her, ever since this morning, and she didn't understand why. What had she done? Dean didn't even look at her when they returned to their motel. His silence was deafening.

Then there was Warren, and God, she hadn't wanted to see him. Of course he had to visit his parents _now_. She wanted to bolt, but she had been rooted to the ground. Hannah never expected to see him again. The air in her lungs had escaped her from the sight of Warren. It was worse than hearing him on the phone. Bile had threatened to rise in her throat from the way he was staring at her, like she was his whole world. She didn't deserve it. How could Warren not see that? Even after their whole conversation hours ago, he still loved her.

Hannah wiped the tears off her cheeks when she heard the toilet flush and the faucet turn on. She busied herself with her phone, deleting the texts and voicemails Warren left her. She forced herself not to look at Dean. Hannah heard him toss his jacket on his bed, then open one of his duffel bags.

"Warren, huh?" was the first thing Dean said, cutting through their tense silence. "It's him right? The one who called you in Toledo and Chicago?"

"Dean…" Hannah snapped her phone shut. She wanted to throw it at the wall. "I don't want to talk about him."

"Why not?" He was cleaning one of his guns, but even Hannah could see he wasn't entirely focused on that.

"Because I just _don't_, okay?"

"I don't see why not. It's not that complicated."

What was _with _him? "Why do you even care?" she questioned, letting go of her phone.

"I don't," Dean grumbled. Neither said anything for a while, until he bit out, "Why'd you dump him?"

"I am _not _talking to you about him," Hannah snapped.

"Aren't we friends?" Dean asked, smiling derisively. "I told you about Cassie, didn't I?"

"You didn't even want to tell me about Cassie," she pointed out, narrowing her eyes. "I didn't want to see him, alright? Is that why you were acting like a jerk to him?"

Dean didn't answer. He regarded her for an uncomfortable moment. He sounded agitated when he said, "You have bad taste in men."

Hannah rolled her eyes. "You're one to talk, Dean. You'll sleep with any girl that smiles at you," she scoffed, crossing her arms.

"Aren't you a fucking hypocrite," Dean retorted, standing up. "How about that dumbass in high school? Or that asshole at the bar? Let's not forget your yuppie ex. And those are the guys I know of."

"Screw you," Hannah exclaimed, jumping off the bed. "Screw you, Dean. I sleep with _one _guy outside of a relationship and you give me grief over it. Do you see me giving you the same treatment? Did I act like a complete jackass when I met Cassie? _Your _ex who _you _slept with during a hunt."

"How do I know you aren't going to fuck Warren when Sam comes back?" Dean demanded.

"Who am I with right now, Dean? _You_, not Warren," she shouted.

The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Dean blinked, the anger from his face fading. With no more yelling, it finally occurred to Hannah how close they were, like the space between them had been shrinking. She wanted to step back, but the heat of his gaze made her falter. The intensity of it threatened to burn through her. Her heart thundered in her ribcage. She wanted to ask him if he wanted this, if he wanted _her_, but she was afraid to break whatever spell he was under.

Dean lowered his head, but Hannah tilted her head up to meet him halfway. His lips were warm and soft against hers. The kiss was delicate, almost chaste. It wasn't what she expected a kiss from Dean to feel like.

They parted, and the green in Dean's eyes were nearly eclipsed by his pupils. Without another second passing, he careened forward and kissed her again.

She moved her hands to his face, holding him so she could keep kissing him. His hand slid around her back, the other hand touching the back of her head. The press of his fingers in her hair was everything she wanted. Dean kept kissing her until her breath was ragged between them—or was it his? Not that she cared. Hannah felt like she was drowning and forgot how to swim.

When their frenzied kisses began to slow down, Hannah slid her hands down from Dean's face to his shoulders before resting on his chest. She was glad he still held her, or else her weak knees might had made her fall over. Dean was still trying to catch his own breath.

"Dean…" _I've loved you since I was fourteen_, Hannah almost said. "I…"

"Don't worry about it," he said, rubbing his thumb against her cheek. He suddenly grinned. "I knew you couldn't resist me. If you wanted me to kiss you so bad, you should have just asked."

"You're so conceited," Hannah muttered, but she couldn't conceal her own smile. "So…"

"So…" Dean started to duck his head, but another sound struck through the air, more of a rumble than a moan. Hannah frowned, listening. The second time she heard the rumble, she realized it came from Dean's _stomach_.

"You're _hungry?_" she asked, giggling.

"I haven't eaten all day," Dean said defensively, releasing her.

"You were eating everything at the auction house!"

"Whatever."

She stepped back to retrieve her phone. "Want some pizza?" Hannah asked, looking back at him. When he didn't answer, she chucked a pillow at him. "Tell me what you want."

"You," Dean said, his voice husky and sending a jolt of arousal through her.

Was she dreaming? Would anyone be so cruel to make a dream so real? Hannah had wanted this since she was fourteen, but she didn't want—_couldn't _have things move too fast. She didn't even know if he felt anything more than brief lust towards her. Even if things didn't work out, she couldn't lose their friendship. She couldn't bear that.

Giving him a tremulous smile, Hannah reached over to hit him. "Food, Dean. Unless you're a cannibal like those Bender freaks."

"Don't remind me of those bastards," Dean groaned, falling back on his own bed. "Pepperoni always."

Hannah ordered the pizza, but wondered if she was still doomed.

* * *

The motel didn't have a TV, so Dean and Hannah were stuck with the radio as they ate their pizza. Their conversation consisted of favorite films and mocking the eighties-like room they were staying in. It almost felt normal. Yeah right. Things hadn't been normal between them since the bar.

Then seeing her ex at the auction house cemented Dean's… _whatever _he felt for Hannah. How could he compete with _Warren? _The guy was clearly wealthy and probably a doctor if he went to Johns Hopkins with Hannah. Dean didn't even have a high school diploma. Not that he wanted to date her or anything. Maybe.

Dean could understand why a guy like Warren would want Hannah back. She was smart and sweet. She had those big breasts and immense eyes. Christ, those eyes. Those baby blues that bored into Dean's so often that he wondered if they were like magnets to his own. When she looked at him, it felt like there was hardly anything holding him together. He hoped to fucking Jesus that she didn't know how helpless he was whenever their eyes met.

Dating was complicated, especially when it was with Hannah of all people. They'd been friends since they were kids. They didn't even get along half the time. He almost got her killed. It wouldn't work, and Dean was fine with that.

Once, when he was drunk with no nameless girl to distract him, Dean wondered what it'd be like to kiss Hannah. He never _seriously _considered doing it because that would have been stupid, but he let his inebriated mind wonder. Hannah would probably taste sweet and clean. Dean had been right. She tasted like strawberries and something else he couldn't identify, but his tongue searched for it.

He wanted to kiss her again, but Sam came back by the time he found the nerve to do it. Hannah rushed over to the bathroom, some excuse about washing her hands. Dean took to sharpening his knife to keep himself occupied. If he kept looking at Hannah, Sam would ask questions.

"You got the provenances?" Hannah hollered from the bathroom.

"Right here." Sam waved the papers in Dean's face.

"So, she just handed the providences over to you?" Dean asked incredulously, pushing the papers away.

"Provenances," Sam corrected, sitting down on one of the chairs.

"Proven… nances," Dean pronounced slowly, more to himself. Hannah flashed him a thumbs up as she joined Sam.

"We went back to her place, I got a copy of the papers," Sam replied, handing Hannah one of the papers.

"And?" Dean prompted, when Sam didn't continue.

"And nothing. That's it. I left."

"Seriously?" Hannah asked, sounding disappointed. "I'm pretty sure Sarah wouldn't have a minded a goodbye kiss."

"Or a little more than that," Dean added, smirking.

Sam shot them both annoyed looks. "Get your heads out of the gutter, guys."

Dean laughed. "You know when this whole thing's done, we could stick around for a little bit."

"Why?" Sam asked warily. Dean groaned from how oblivious he was acting.

"So you could take her out again," Dean explained. Did he seriously have to spell it out for him? "It's obvious you're into her, even I could see that."

Hannah smiled and shook Sam. "Yeah! Sarah's smart and gorgeous. You couldn't do better," she said excitedly. "Hey, Sam, do these names ring a bell?"

It was quiet for a moment, the only sounds were papers shuffling and the pages of Dad's journal flipping. Hannah beckoned Dean over and he walked over to them, standing a little too close to her. He put his hand on the small of her spine as he peered down at Dad's journal. She stiffened under his touch. Shit, Dean hoped he wasn't spooking her.

"This portrait was sold to these families," Sam told him, handing him the papers. Dean accepted them with one hand. "Now compare the names of the owners with Dad's journal."

"First purchased in 1912, Peter Simms. Peter Simms murdered 1912. Same thing in 1945… Oh, same thing in 1970," Dean murmured, frowning.

"Then stored until it was donated to a charity auction last month. Where the Telescas bought it," Sam said, leaning back.

"Do you guys think it's haunted? Cursed? Maybe both?" Hannah questioned, bouncing on her feet.

Dean put the papers back on the table and went over to grab his jacket. "Either way, it's toast."

He found it difficult not to glance from the road to Hannah in the backseat. She wasn't even doing anything sexy, just pulling her hair back in a ponytail. One kiss shouldn't have fucked him up this badly.

The auction house didn't have any security guards, so hopping the tall gates wasn't an issue. Hannah's landing was wobbly and she stumbled forward. Dean steadied her, pulling her close and enjoying the press of their bodies together. Hannah's ponytail swung like a cheerleader's.

"Oh." She smiled, suddenly shy. "Thanks."

Holding her was nice, but they had a portrait to burn, so Dean let her go and caught up with Sam. He was already disarming the security alarm. "Go ahead," Sam said, when he successfully deactivated it.

"I'd have you do it, but we're on a tight schedule," Dean told Hannah. He taught her how to pick locks, but she was still an amateur compared to him. She needed practice. Maybe they could practice while Sam was off with Sarah, then make out in the backseat of his car.

_Focus, jackass_, Dean told himself.

They searched for the painting until Dean spotted it upstairs with his flashlight. Hannah was faster than them and was already by the painting. Dean pulled out his switchblade and ripped the painting out of its frame. Rolling it up, he motioned for them to follow him down the staircase and back to the Impala.

After burning the ugly ass portrait, Hannah decided she wanted ice cream. Sam argued that it was too late for a cold treat, but with her endless whining, he relented. Dean didn't mind ice cream, and managed to find a twenty-four hour drugstore.

"You said only ice cream," Dean pointed out, when he noticed her getting other things. "You always do this shit."

"Stop pretending to be mad. You know you really don't mind," Hannah said, picking up a magazine. She wasn't wrong, but he refused to let her know. "Want to share?"

"Kinda have to. It'll melt if you don't finish it," he replied, watching her ponytail swing with every step she took. It wasn't often she wore her hair up. "Which one do you want?"

"Butter pecan," Hannah gasped, taking the small carton out of the fridge. "You're not allergic to pecans, are you?"

He shook his head and paid for her items, adding a bottle of liquor. Alcohol and ice cream were always a good combo.

Sam went inside the motel, but Dean and Hannah remained outside. They sat on the hood of his car eating their spiked ice cream. It was silent as they ate. Dean tried not to think too hard on his… _whatever _he felt towards Hannah. Her plastic spoon bumped into his and Dean looked up.

"What?" he asked, biting down on a pecan.

"Nothing." She smiled. "Thanks for the stuff."

"You're welcome." Dean tapped her spoon with his own. "Who was a better kisser?"

Hannah looked horrified by the question.

"Come on, Princess, tell me," Dean insisted, hoping his desperation wasn't noticeable. He needed something over Warren because why the hell would Hannah break up with a doctor? "Or do you need more convincing?"

Her face flushed red, and didn't bother to answer him. Dean opened his mouth to tease her about it, but his words died as he watched Hannah eat her ice cream. Her tongue curled slowly as she licked the ice cream off her spoon. Was she… was she doing it on _purpose? _

"Night, Dean." She slid off the hood and tossed her spoon in a nearby trashcan.

Dean waited until she was inside their room to rub the palm of his hand over his crotch. He wasn't hard yet, but he was getting there. He remembered another time Hannah gave him a stiffy, back in Indiana. She was in the backseat of his Baby, stretching as she woke up. The sleepy moan she released and the way her body twisted like a cat almost made him swerve off the road.

He couldn't believe he needed to rub one out. God, he was so screwed.

* * *

Hannah had no idea how she managed to sleep last night.

She was too wired from the ice cream and the kiss. Her kiss with _Dean Winchester_. She dreamt about this moment so often it was embarrassing. Just knowing that they kissed was enough to disorient her. If this happened when she was a teenager, Hannah probably would have screamed out of sheer excitement. She still wanted to scream, but she composed herself.

Dean was still in the bathroom by the time she stopped lazing around in bed. Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed, still in his pajamas. He moved to sit beside her when he noticed her stretching.

"Dean seemed better when I came back," Sam noted.

"Yeah." Hannah bit down on her smile.

She didn't hide it well enough. Sam grinned and bumped her shoulder. "Something happened," he remarked.

"Something," Hannah agreed, playing coy. "More than you and Sarah."

The color drained from Sam's face. "Please don't tell me you let him—"

"_No_," Hannah exclaimed, blushing. Glancing at the bathroom, she leaned over to whisper in his ear, "He kissed me."

When she pulled back, Sam was staring at her in shock. His shock was replaced with a small smile. "That's great," he said, then shook his head. "I feel like we're at a sleepover gossiping."

She looked at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. Sam laughed too, burying his face in his hand. Their laughter died down by the time Dean stepped out of the bathroom. He frowned at their giggles.

"What are you guys laughing at?" he questioned, running his fingers through his wet hair.

"You," Sam answered. He dodged a punch from Dean on his way to the bathroom.

Dean's shirt was tight around his biceps, flexing as he rummaged through his duffel bag. She wanted to slide her hands underneath his shirt and caress the muscles on his chest and abdomen. Hannah instead reached for her own duffel bag and dug around for an outfit. She didn't expect to do much today, so she picked out a grey miniskirt and a white flower print sweater.

After deciding on which shoes to wear, Hannah stood and went over to Dean's side. She bumped his hip and he barely swayed to the side. Dean glanced down at her, smiling. Hannah smiled back, her heartbeat thrumming in her ears.

"Dream about me?" Dean asked, giving her a sly grin.

"I didn't dream," Hannah answered, unable to think of a witty retort.

"You don't dream?"

"I didn't say that. I just didn't dream last night."

"Too much on your mind?"

"Too much _ice cream_."

He laughed and buried his face in her hair, mussing it up until she wriggled away. "Admit it, Princess. You dig me."

She fiddled with the handle of his duffel bag. "I never said I didn't," Hannah mumbled, squeezing the handle tight to keep her hands from shaking. "What made you do it anyway?"

"What? You didn't like it?" Dean questioned, frowning.

"I liked it." Her face was burning hotter than a bonfire.

"Good." Dean watched her, his expression warm like the Impala left out in the sun.

The rest of their conversation consisted of where they were going after this. This was the quickest hunt Hannah ever experienced. When she said so, Dean snorted. Sam left the bathroom a couple minutes later, allowing Hannah to go in. She grabbed Sam's arm on the way in.

"Don't. Say. Anything," she whispered.

"Sure." Sam smiled, amused.

Hannah shrieked when she turned on the shower and cold water spritzed over. Those jerks hadn't left her any hot water. She soldiered on, washing her body at a brisk pace. Hannah shuddered as she jumped out of the shower and hurried to dry herself. She was rubbing lotion her legs when Dean banged on the door. Slipping on her skirt and adjusting her sweater, Hannah opened the door.

"What?" she demanded, then stumbled back when Dean pushed past her inside. "Hey!"

"I can't find my wallet," Dean grumbled, searching around the small bathroom. "Did you see it?"

"No." Hannah skimmed the bathroom for it, but didn't spot it anywhere. "I don't think it's in here."

"Great," Dean huffed, marching out of the bathroom. "We got a problem. I can't find my wallet."

"How is that _our_ problem?" Sam asked, not in the least bit caring.

"Cause' I think I dropped it in the warehouse last night," Dean said. Hannah nearly dropped her eyeliner in the sink.

"Are you kidding me right now?" Sam demanded, sounding as horrified as Hannah felt.

"No. It's got my prints, my ID, well my fake ID anyway. We gotta get it before someone else finds it," Dean said in a rushed voice. He motioned at them to hurry up. "_Come on_."

Hannah collected her makeup and followed the boys out of the motel. She was more bemused than angry at how Dean could lose his wallet.

* * *

The auction house was empty when they entered it. Sam was frustrated at his brother's recklessness. How could Dean do something so amateur? Then there was Sarah, who Sam wasn't exactly looking forward to running into. There was nothing wrong with her. She was clever and beautiful and smart, but thoughts of Jess overwhelmed his mind throughout their date. He still loved Jess and didn't think he'd ever stop, but that wasn't the reason Sam couldn't open up around Sarah. Jess died because of him. She died in the exact same fashion as Mom. Sam couldn't risk Sarah's life like that.

Sam was ready to sock Dean when someone greeted them. He tried not to grimace at the sound of Sarah's voice. She sounded too happy to see them. He didn't get it. Sam hadn't done anything spectacular during their date. She even looked disappointed when Sam left her apartment without kissing her. He honestly thought she wouldn't want to see him again after that.

"Sarah," Sam exclaimed. He coughed, wondering why he was shouting. "Um, hey."

"What are you guys doing here?" Sarah inquired, smiling.

"Sam missed you," Hannah blurted out. Sam snapped his head at her. "Isn't that right, Sam?"

She tilted her head, her smile innocent enough, but her eyes held an ominous promise for Sam. It was so out of place that Sam wondered if he was seeing things. Ignoring the ice in his belly, Sam turned back to Sarah. Her smile was wide, bright enough to shine through darkness. He couldn't help but smile back.

"Oh, Sam." Dean moved over to his side. "By the way. I'm gonna go ahead and give you that twenty dollars I owe you."

_That son of a bitch_, thought Sam. He couldn't believe this was just a ploy to meet up with Sarah. Actually, Sam _could _believe it because this was the sort of thing his brother would do.

"I always forget, you know," Dean said to Sarah, chuckling. He held out a twenty for Sam, and he grudgingly took it. "Well, Hannah and I will leave you two crazy kids alone. We gotta go do something… somewhere."

Sam glared at Dean and Hannah's retreating forms.

He turned back to Sarah, unsure of what to say. Thankfully, she spoke first. "I had a good time last night," she said, swaying her hips.

"Yeah, yeah. I did too," Sam admitted, rocking on the balls of his feet.

"Maybe we should do it again sometime," Sarah suggested, hopeful.

Going out with Sarah felt normal and that was what Sam strived for more than anything, but his life wasn't normal. There was Jess, and she was dead, but he still missed her. Sam didn't want to disappoint Sarah. She liked him more than he deserved.

Swallowing back his guilt, Sam forced out, "You know. I'd love to, I really would, but… we're leaving town and, you know, I came to say goodbye."

"Oh." If Sam could list all the things that could devastate him, the look on Sarah's face would be in the top three. "Oh. That's… that's too bad."

"Sarah, I…" Sam's eyes widened when he saw employees carrying the portrait they _burned _last night. "Oh my _God_."

"What?" Sarah exclaimed, flinching at his shout.

"That painting…" Sam struggled to think of something, anything. "… looks so good."

Sarah followed his gaze, clearly puzzled by his comment. "If you can call that _monstrosity_ good, then yeah, I guess."

"Sarah," Sam started, panicked. What the hell was going on? The portrait shouldn't even be here. "What do you know about that painting?"

"Not much. Just that it creeps me out," Sarah answered, shifting on her feet. "We sold it to the Telescas at a charity auction the night they were murdered."

"And now you're just going to sell it again?" Sam questioned, dismayed.

"As much as my dad wants to, no, I won't let him. I think it'd be in bad taste," Sarah replied. She watched him with concerned eyes. "Is something wrong, Sam?"

"Yeah. I mean no. I mean… You know what? I have to go. I have to take care of something," Sam rambled, walking backwards. "But, um, I will call you back. I'll see you later."

"Wait, so you're _not _leaving tonight?" Sarah called after him.

"N-no," Sam stammered, then let out a nervous laugh. "I'll see you later!"

_What the actual fuck_, was the one continuous thought throughout Sam's head on their way to the bookstore.

* * *

After spending an hour at the bookstore, Hannah and the boys returned to the motel with copies of everything the owner could give them on the Isaiah Merchant family. Apparently, Isaiah Merchant killed his children—two sons and an adopted daughter—by slitting their throats before killing his wife and himself. In one of the articles, Isaiah was described having a "stern and harsh temperament." There were rumors that his wife was going to take the children and leave, which would have given Isaiah motivation to murder them.

The only issue was that the bodies were cremated.

Sam claimed the painting moved. He placed the picture of the painting the bookstore owner copied for them in the middle of the table. "The painting at the auction house, Dad is looking down. Painting here, Dad's looking out. The painting has _changed_."

"No one's doubting you," Hannah murmured, touching Sam's hand. He had freaked out when he saw the painting again.

"Alright, so you think that Daddy dearest is trapped in the painting and is handing out Columbian neckties like he did with his family?" Dean questioned.

"Colombian neckties?" Hannah repeated. She frowned when Dean sliced his throat with his forefinger then motioned to his tongue. "Wait, they pull the tongue out of their _throat?"_

"It seems like it," Sam agreed, rolling his fist underneath Hannah's hand. "But if his bones are already dusted then how are we gonna stop him?"

"If Isaiah's position changed then maybe some other things in the painting changed as well," Dean decided.

"There's got to be clues, then," Hannah offered, peering down at the picture. She made note of everything within the painting.

"What? Like a Da Vinci Code deal?" Sam asked, glancing between them.

Dean was nonplussed. "I don't… I don't know. I'm still waiting for the movie on that one," he admitted, "_anyway, _we gotta get back in and see that painting." He rose from his chair and went over to his bed, throwing himself on it in one motion. "Which is a good thing cause' you can get some more time to crush on your girlfriend."

"Dude. Enough already," Sam snapped. "Ever since we got here, you been trying to pimp me out to Sarah. Just back off, alright?"

"Well, you like her, don't you?" Dean asked, causing Sam to roll his eyes and lean back in his chair. "You like her, she likes you. You're both consenting adults..."

"What's the point, Dean?" Sam demanded, resentment coloring his tone. "We'll just leave. We _always_ leave."

"Well, I'm not talking about marriage, Sam."

"I don't get it. What do you care if I hook up?"

"Cause' then maybe you wouldn't be so cranky all the time," Dean replied, smiling lazily. Sam scoffed and glared up at the ceiling.

"Seriously, Sam, this isn't about just hooking up, okay?" Dean pressed, sitting up. "I think that this Sarah girl could be good for you. And..." He hesitated before continuing, his voice softer. "I don't mean any disrespect, but I'm sure this is about Jessica, right? Now, I don't know what it's like to lose somebody like that... but I would think that she would want you to be happy. God forbid have fun once in a while, wouldn't she?"

She reached over and took one of Sam's hands. He tilted his head back to her, his scowl fading. His eyes were wet with tears. Sam squeezed her hand, his breathing unsteady. Hannah could see his hurt, feel his grief as it pulsated through him. She wanted to lift that pain off his shoulders.

"Yeah, I know she would," Sam finally said, his voice heavy. He smiled at Hannah, but it was a sad one. "Yeah, you're right. Part of this is about Jessica, but not the main part."

"What's it about?" Dean asked.

Sam lowered his head, a tear sliding down his cheek and dropping to their joined hands. When he didn't speak, Dean sighed and muttered, "Yeah, alright."

Hannah leaned forward until their heads nearly touched. "Can you call Sarah? About the painting?" she asked quietly. He nodded and pulled out his phone. While he talked to her, Hannah stood and went over to where Dean was lounging. He gave her a questioning look when she leaned over to hug him.

"That was really sweet, Dean," she murmured into his cheek.

"Oh, shut up," Dean grumbled, pushing her away.

She laughed, but it ended abruptly when Sam jumped out of his chair shouting for an address. Dean swung his legs over the bed as he got to his feet. He took the paper that Sam scrambled down the address on and motioned for Hannah to follow him to the car. She climbed into the backseat and as soon as Sam got in, Dean drove furiously to the location of the portrait.

"What's the plan?" Hannah asked, bouncing in her seat. It was more out of anxiety than excitement. "We can't just go in without a plan for this… murdering painting, right?"

"We'll figure it out when we get there," Dean replied distractedly.

Sarah was already there when they reached the house. "I told you, you shouldn't have come," Sam told her.

Hannah didn't hear Sarah as she knocked on Evelyn's door. Dean was shaking the barred windows, shouting for Evelyn. She grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the door. He immediately crouched down to pick at the lock. When the door clicked open, Hannah rushed in. If they hurried, then maybe they could save Evelyn.

"Evelyn?" Hannah called. Where would someone place a painting? She snapped her fingers. The living room.

She heard the others follow her. Hannah paused when she saw the back of a woman sitting still in a chair. She immediately recognized the smell of dried blood and death. Sarah stepped towards Evelyn, but Hannah grabbed her wrist to keep her from going forward. The taller girl looked at her, confused.

"Don't," Hannah said softly. Sarah's eyes widened and she glanced back at Evelyn.

Dean went over to Evelyn. "Shit," he hissed, after checking. "I'm sorry, Sarah. She's... she's gone."

Sarah let out a cry and Sam pulled her into his arms, burying her sobs in his chest. Hannah looked at the painting and swallowed back a startled noise. Isaiah was staring in their direction, his eyes wide.

"The painting," Hannah said, stepping backwards.

"Shit," Dean muttered, noticing the shifted position. "Sam, we've gotta go."

Sam guided Sarah out of Evelyn's house, rubbing her back. Dean touched Hannah's elbow when they were by the front door. "How'd you know?"

"I'm a nurse. I'm familiar with the smells," she explained, watching Sam hold Sarah. "What are we going to do with her?"

"Sam will handle it," Dean answered decidedly. "It wasn't a Colombian necktie by the way. Just a regular slit of the throat."

Hannah shot him a disapproving look. How could he think about the methods of murder when someone just died? Dean just smirked at her frown. She rolled her eyes and walked back to the Impala.

* * *

Somehow, Sam convinced Sarah not to tell the cops that he, Dean, and Hannah had been at Evelyn's. He felt awful for putting her through that, but cops would only make the hunt more complicated.

Sam paced the motel room, wondering how the hell they were going to stop a haunted portrait. Hannah was studying the picture of the Merchant family, while Dean used his laptop. Sam halted to a stop when he heard an insistent knock at their door. His breath caught in his throat when it was Sarah.

"Hey," he said gently, stepping aside to let her in. "You alright?"

"_No_, actually. I just lied to the cops and told them I went to Evelyn's _alone_ and found her like that," Sarah snapped. Her arms were shaking, but Sam refrained from touching them. "I'm about to call them right back if you don't tell me what the hell's going on. Who's killing these people?"

He glanced at Dean and almost rolled his eyes when Dean merely raised his eyebrows with a smirk. Inhaling sharply, Sam turned back to Sarah. He corrected her with a weary, "What."

Sarah frowned, her anger replaced with confusion. "What?" she repeated.

"It's not 'who'. It's 'what' is killing those people," Sam explained, tugging at his belt loops. He could read Sarah's expression. She thought they were crazy and was probably regretting seeking them out.

"Sarah, it's okay," said Hannah. Her voice was as gentle as it was last night when she held his hand. "I know this sounds insane, but you _saw _that painting move."

"No," Sarah immediately denied, stepping back from Sam. "No, I was… I was seeing things. That's _impossible_."

"Yeah, well, welcome to our world," Dean said, and Sam just knew he was smirking.

He took a tentative step towards Sarah and was relieved when she didn't move. "Look, there is no way I can make this sound any less crazy, but… we think the painting is haunted."

Silence followed his words. Sarah's expression changed multiple times—frustration, disbelief, confusion—until it settled on a smile. She laughed, but it was forced. "You're joking." Her eyes darted from Sam's to Dean and Hannah's. Her smile vanished. "You're _not_ joking. God, the guys I go out with."

"Sarah, think about it. Evelyn, the Telesca's, they both had the painting," Sam continued, "and there have been others before that. Wherever this thing goes people die. We're just trying to stop it and that's the truth."

She regarded him, searching his face for any lies. Sam stared back. After a moment, Sarah closed her eyes and inhaled heavily. She opened her eyes and nodded. Relief filled Sam then.

"Then I guess you'd better show me. I'm coming with you," Sarah told them.

His relief left with a whoosh.

"What? No. Sarah, _no_," Sam sputtered, startled by her decision. "You should just go home. This stuff can get dangerous and…" He hesitated, his tongue turning to wood. "And I don't want you to get hurt."

"Look, you guys are probably crazy, but if you're right about this? Well, me and my Dad sold that painting that might have gotten these people killed," Sarah explained. She frowned, glancing away as regret became plain on her face. When she turned back to Sam, her expression was determined. "Look, I'm not saying I'm not scared because I am scared as hell but… I'm not going to run and hide either."

She strode towards the door and paused when no one else made to follow. "So, are we going or what?" Before anyone could answer, Sarah was already outside.

"Sam?" said Dean, and Sam turned towards him. His brother was pointing in the direction Sarah left. "Marry that girl."

Sam buried his face in his hand to hide his blush.

* * *

After breaking into Evelyn's house, the four of them discovered that the Merchants had their own mausoleum. They searched two graveyards and Sarah felt like giving up. She was still trying to wrap her head around this haunted painting.

"So, _this _is what you guys do for a living?" Sarah asked, walking alongside Sam through the third graveyard. They trailed behind Dean and Hannah, who were arguing about the ghost.

"Not exactly. We don't get paid," Sam answered. His arm brushed hers with every step. Once their fingers touched on accident and Sarah nearly jumped. The sheepish smile he gave her only endeared him more to her.

Sarah wasn't sure what drew her to Sam. He was more reserved than the guys she usually dated. She remembered their date and how his face had fallen when she opened up about her mother dying. It was like he couldn't answer her when she asked a personal question. Sarah guessed it related to this "job" of his why he didn't answer her. Despite his reticence, she felt connected to him. Like when they first met at the auction house, and he saw through her little question. Sarah knew there was something different about him then.

_God, I sound so dreamy_, thought Sarah.

"Well, mazel tov," she said, purposefully avoiding his gaze.

Hannah pointed out the nearest mausoleum and as Sarah drew closer, she saw the name Merchant engraved in stone. She glanced around for any security as Dean broke the lock. Pushing aside cobwebs, Dean led them inside the mausoleum. Sarah frowned when she saw the urns, but what arrested her attention was the _doll _in the glass case.

"Okay, that right there—" She pointed to the doll. "—is the creepiest thing I've ever seen."

"They freak me out too," Hannah admitted, eyeing the doll with disdain.

"Everything freaks you out," Dean goaded. He dodged the slap Hannah aimed for his arm.

"It was sort of tradition at the time," Sam told Sarah. "Whenever a child died sometimes they'd preserve the kid's favorite toy in a glass case, put it next to the headstone or crypt."

"Still doesn't make it any less creepy," Sarah replied, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear when a gust of wind stirred it. Leaves billowed around them before falling to the ground.

"Notice anything strange here?" Dean asked loudly.

"Um, where do I start?" Sarah asked, glancing around the mausoleum. She half expected the Crypt-Keeper to show up. Her heart beat quickened at Sam's light laugh.

Hannah narrowed her eyes at the urns, studying them. She lifted four of her fingers. "I count four, but the dad's missing."

Dean suggested they head to the county office. Sarah didn't bother to ask what he and Hannah were looking for until she waited outside with Sam. He told her they were searching for county death certificates on Isaiah Merchant. Getting through the door consisted of lying and subterfuge according to Sam.

"You have a…" Sarah widened her eyes. "You have an eyelash on your…" She relaxed and reached up to touch her face, but couldn't feel it. Sam started to laugh. "No, not there. Do you mind if I get it?"

"No." She shook her head. Sarah held her breath as Sam leaned in and swiped it off her cheekbone. The brief touch on her skin was enough to erupt butterflies.

He held the dark lash on his forefinger. His smile was bright. "Make a wish."

Sarah laughed and blew on it gently, watching it disappear in the wind. She looked down at her lap, wondering what it meant to like someone as weird as Sam. There was something between them, Sarah was sure of it, but she didn't want to pursue a dead end.

"Sam, can I ask you something?" Sarah asked, because she was never one to wait on a guy. When he nodded, she hoped her voice wasn't weak as she asked, "Is there something, here, between us? Or am I delusional?"

His stare was intense, hot enough to burn her soul. He blinked and the intensity faded. "You're not delusional," he replied, his smile unbelievably boyish. It waned and Sarah knew what was coming next. "But I don't think this would be a good idea."

She sat up straighter, ignoring the punch to her gut. "Can I ask why?"

"Because I like you."

_Because I like you_. Had Sarah heard that right? She let out a disbelieving laugh. "Wait. You lost me."

"Look. It's hard to explain," Sam started, leaning towards her. Their knees bumped into one another. "It's just when people are around me… I don't know, they get hurt."

"What do you mean?" Sarah asked, concerned. Had she read Sam wrong? Was he just a player that fooled girls with his dimpled smile and deep, soft voice?

"I mean like physically hurt. With what me and my brother do, it's…" He struggled to explain. His eyes widened when she took his hands in hers. "Sarah, I had a girlfriend. And she died. And my Mom died too. Hannah got hurt because of me once. I don't know, it's like I'm cursed or something. Like death just follows me around. Look, I'm not scared of much, but if I let myself have feelings for anybody…"

"You're scared they'd get hurt too," Sarah finished, understanding. She squeezed his hands. His concern was touching. "That's very sweet… and very archaic."

Sam snapped his head up. "Sorry?" he asked.

"I'm a big girl, Sam. It's not your job to make decisions for me," Sarah told him. His job was dangerous, but Sarah refused for that to block her path. "There's always a chance of getting hurt."

"I'm not talking about a broken heart and a tub of Häagen-Dazs," he said frantically. "I'm talking about life and death."

"And tomorrow I could get hit by a bus. That's how life _is_," she countered. They were sitting so close now that their thighs touched. "I know losing somebody you love. It's terrible. You shut yourself off. Believe me, I know. But when you shut out pain, you shut out everything else too."

Sam's grip on her hand was almost painful. His expression was tormented. "Sarah, you don't understand," he said quietly. Sarah ducked her head to listen. "The pain that I went through… I can't go through it again. I _can't_."

_That's what love is worth_, Sarah would have said, if Dean hadn't suddenly showed up. The warmth of Sam's hands was gone as he pulled away. She sat up, knowing there was a flush to her face from how little the distance was between her and Sam.

At least she understood Sam better.

* * *

Isaiah Merchant's death certificate claimed he was buried in a pine box instead of cremated with the rest of his family. All they had to do was dig his grave, salt it, then burn it. Simple enough for them.

"Gum?" Hannah offered Sarah. Her other hand held the flashlight. "It's strawberry."

"Oh. Thanks." Sarah took the stick and chewed it. She stood awkwardly, watching Dean and Sam dig Isaiah Merchant's grave. "You guys seem to be uncomfortably comfortable with this."

"We've dug graves before," Hannah said, then winced. Saying that out loud didn't make it any less weird. Sarah certainly thought so.

"I hope you're not including yourself in there, Princess," said Dean loudly.

"What are you talking about? I've dug graves before!"

"One. You've dug _one_ grave."

Hannah rolled her eyes. She turned back to Sarah and smiled. Sarah returned her smile with a smaller one. "How do you know them, anyway?" the taller girl inquired.

"We've known each other since we were kids," Hannah explained, remembering that night. She and Sarah talked about other things, like school and jobs. "Here," she said, when Dean started to climb out. She held out her hand and helped him up. Dean ended up pulling _her_ so hard she collided into his chest.

She looked up. Sweat and dirt streaked his face. His mouth curved into a smirk. His hand lingered on hers before letting go to lend Sam a hand. Sarah beat him to it, having helped pulled Sam out of the grave already. Hannah grabbed the kerosene and poured it over the coffin. Dean passed her the matches and she lit one.

"You've been a real pain in the ass, Isaiah," Dean announced, watching the flaming match fall into the coffin. It burst into flames. "Good riddance."

They were walking back to the Impala when Dean took Hannah's arm. "Sit up front with me," he said, smirking at Sam. "Let the crazy kids sit together."

Sam glared at Dean, but Sarah was smiling at his intentions. Hannah shrugged at Sam and slid into the passenger seat. It wasn't often she sat in the front. She leaned back against the seat and rolled her head to watch Dean drive. Would he take her hand if she reached over? Hannah turned straight ahead, her cheeks burning.

"Wait, why are we going back to Evelyn's?" Sarah asked, when she realized their destination. "I thought the painting was harmless now."

"Can never be too careful," Hannah replied, using her dad's words.

"We're gonna bury the sucker," Sam added, stepping out of the car when Dean parked. "Keep the motor running."

"I'm going with you," Sarah announced, following him out.

"We'll stay here," Dean called after them. He beckoned Sam to come by his window and whispered something. Sam scoffed and headed to the door. Dean reached over to turn on the radio and a love song blared out.

Sam whirled and his face was so rife with scorn that Hannah couldn't help the giggle that escaped her. He motioned for Dean to shut off the radio. Dean hung his head for a moment before turning it off. He slung his right arm behind the passenger seat, fingers touching the headrest. He tapped it, the sound pounding straight into Hannah's ears.

"You can't push things, Dean," Hannah said, tilting her head the same time he did. "You have to let it… play out."

"Yeah? Well, Sammy needs a push," Dean replied, no longer tapping the headrest. "Hannah, let me ask you something."

Whatever question he had, it flew over Hannah's head. She saw the door to Evelyn's house slam shut. Jumping out of her seat, Hannah ran over to the door and tried to open it. Dean was beside her not a moment later, banging his fist against the wood. He tried to shove the door open with his shoulder, but to no avail. Dean's phone began to ring and he fumbled it out of his pocket.

"Tell me you slammed the front door," Dean said, putting it on speaker.

"_It wasn't me_," Sam told him. He sounded like he was moving around. "_I think it was the little girl_."

"She's not in the painting?" Hannah questioned, horrified. That meant Isaiah hadn't murdered his family, but the _daughter _had.

"_Yeah. I think it might've been her all along_."

"Wasn't the Dad looking down at her?" Dean asked. Hannah nodded, pacing around. They didn't have anything to get through the door. An axe would work, but that might take too long. "Maybe he was trying to warn us."

"_Hey, let's recap later, alright? Just get us out of here,"_ Sam said impatiently.

"We're trying, Sam, but the door won't open," Hannah replied, kicking the door. She groaned when it still wouldn't budge. She went over to one of the barred windows and pulled at it. Holding onto the bars, Hannah lifted herself up, bracing her feet on the wall as she tried with all her might to tear the bars off.

"_Well, knock it down_."

"Okay genius, let me just grab my _battering ram_," Dean snapped. "Hannah! What the hell are you doing?"

Hannah hopped down and jogged over to him. "Sam? Do you remember if the articles said whether or not the little girl had some sort of possession?"

Someone else—Sarah probably—sounded muffled as they spoke. Sam's voice was urgent as he relayed what she said. "_Sarah said the doll might have the kid's real hair. Human remains, same as bones_."

She and Dean were already rushing to the Impala.

Dean was always a dangerous driver. He ran red lights and always went over the speed limit, yet Hannah never felt scared… until now. She shrieked when Dean drove through the gates leading to the graveyard. Hannah continued scream, only to stop when his hand clasped her knee. His hand didn't remain for long. He moved his arm up and over her belly when he halted the car to a stop.

She leapt out of the car and ran over to the mausoleum, pushing the doors open. Dean punched the glass, but not even a crack formed. He pulled out his gun and smashed it with the handle of his gun.

"Dean, seriously?" Hannah took his gun and shot once at the glass. She broke the rest of the glass with the gun before grabbing the doll and handing it to Dean. He smiled sheepishly as he accepted it.

Holding it at arm's length, Dean tried to use his lighter on the doll's hair, but it refused to ignite. Hannah bounced on her feet, anxious. Why wasn't it lighting up? She cheered when it lit and a trail of flames danced its way up the doll's hair. When the fire grew too hot, Dean dropped it to the ground. Hannah reached for her phone and called Sam.

"Are you guys okay?" Hannah asked, biting her lip.

Sam didn't answer for a moment before answering with a winded, "_Not bad_."

"Good," Hannah sighed, "we're coming back now."

* * *

According to the archives Dean found, Melanie was adopted by the Merchants because her real family was murdered in their beds. It didn't take much investigating to figure out who murdered them. Isaiah took the blame when Melanie murdered her adopted family and his spirit had been warning people since.

Sarah was horrified, but intrigued. "Why did the girl do it?"

Sam shrugged. "Killing others? Killing herself? Some people are just born tortured," he explained. "So when they die, their spirits are just as dark."

"Maybe. I don't really care," Dean commented nonchalantly. "It's over, we move on."

"I guess this means you're leaving," Sarah said softly. Sam could see his own disappointment mirrored in her eyes.

Thank God for Hannah because she understood what was going on without him even looking at her. "Bye, Sarah," she said, giving the taller girl a hug. Sarah seemed surprise, but hugged her back. Sam shot Hannah a thankful look and she returned it with a smile. He rolled his eyes at Dean who was mouthing obscenities until Hannah hit his arm.

It wasn't until they were out of earshot when Sarah took a step towards Sam. "There are a million things I want to say to you but for the life of me I can't think of one."

He ducked his head, grinning. Lifting his head, Sam took another step towards her. "Yeah, I'll miss you too."

Something deep stirred in his heart from the longing on her face. She tried to mask it with a cheerful smile. "You know there's a lesson in all of this."

"What's that?" Sam asked, smiling back.

"We all got through this in one piece. I didn't get hurt," she pointed out.

He laughed. "Yeah, I'm glad for that," he admitted, when his laughter died down.

"So, maybe you're not cursed. Maybe…" Sarah was so close. He could smell her perfume, see the green in her hazel eyes. One miniscule step and the distance would be nonexistent. "Maybe you'll come back and see me."

"I will," Sam promised, and there was an odd stillness between them.

Sam could kiss her now, but would it mean? He had no idea when he'd see her again, and making her wait on him was despicable. Sarah looked up at him expectantly. Her smile didn't reach her eyes and she nodded, grasping the situation. She walked with him to the door and told him goodbye.

He headed to the Impala, but paused at the sight of Dean and Hannah. They were talking and something Hannah said made Dean snort, but for one split second, Sam saw his smile. The rare one that reached his eyes and made his face warmer, so bright that anyone would be drawn into it. Sam remembered Dean smiling like that when they were kids, but it was slowly succeeded by the cynical smirk he wore nowadays.

Hannah had brought that smile out. All because of one kiss.

The pain Sam felt after losing Jessica was agony. He felt as if he was getting mauled and shredded to pieces. Sam didn't—_couldn't _feel that ever again, but… if Hannah could bring out _that _smile on world-weary Dean then Sam could risk it. He could risk the pain.

Rolling his shoulders, Sam strode back to the door. He knocked on it and when Sarah opened it, he didn't hesitate to hold her face in his hands and duck his head to kiss her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "Sam…" His name was impossibly soft on her tongue, and his heart stuttered in his chest from the sound of it.

"I'll come back for you," Sam promised between open-mouthed kisses. He couldn't get enough of her. He could stand there and kiss her until the sun fell low in the sky.

As soon as that monster was dead, Sam was coming back.

* * *

**A/N: **So, that kiss wasn't supposed to happen. Oh well! Dean is so much fun to write and finally a Sam POV! I love Sarah and I hate how she didn't have a bigger role in the series. Also, if anyone's curious, the actor I envision as Hannah's ex Warren is Matt Davis (Warner from _Legally Blonde _and Alaric from _Vampire Diaries), _and for one night stand Luke is Josh Holloway.

Btw, I'm starting school by the time I've uploaded this chapter. I'm not sure when I'll update again, but hopefully soon since my schedule is lighter. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! Can't wait to share the next one!


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